To Henderson Bay Will I Go by Dawn Ellis

(with homage to W.B. Yeats)

I will arise now and go to Henderson Bay,

to the old, shingled cabin with sun-worn decking,

and mice that run through sunbeams, across the top of the couch.

A sleeping porch will I have there, windowed with sheets

of plastic, where the music of the creek underneath

and the sound of waves lapping on the beach float in.

And I shall have the peace of lazy summer days spent

with my younger sisters and brother, urging, “Jump! Jump!”

Swinging out from the bulkhead, on the knotted rope,

I will drop into the frigid salt water at high tide.

I will sputter at the cold. My sisters and brother will applaud.

My best friend, Michelle Ledbetter, will caution me,

“Careful of the spikes.”  I will climb with Michelle,

up onto the old, wrecked barge, washed up down the way.

We will sit on a beach towel there, silent, sun-warmed,

looking out across the sparkling bay.

There, on Henderson Bay, with evening’s pink glow

and the moon beginning its ascent, will I sit by a bonfire.

Someone will play guitar, “Michael Row the Boat Ashore,”

my father’s deep voice leading, all of us together,

my parents, my sisters and brother, the Ledbetters, and me.

I will lean against my father’s chest to feel his heart beat.

I will go now, as the sun sets, to remember.

I will hear the creek and the lapping bay water.

Whether I lie abed or rise to some pursuit, I will hear,

“Jump! Jump!” and “Michael Row the Boat Ashore.”

I will feel these deep in my heart’s core.