Kaleigh Jae Poet Free verse

II The Lake is Alive

At the wedding feast,
The lake rose silently outside the windows.
Dark water pressed against the glass.
Listening.
    All the while,
the villagers watched me
with the terrible tenderness
reserved only for the dying and dead.
    That night,
My husband did not touch me.
He sat at the edge of the bed
    eyes fixed on the shore
while moonlight pooled silver across the floorboards.
Then, very quietly, he said:
    “You sound like her.”
I asked whose name sat in his throat,
but he only shook his head—
as though naming her would invite the lake closer.
Later, unable to sleep,
I wandered beyond the house
still dressed in lace damp with river air.
The lake was awake. 
       The lake was alive.
Water curled against the shoreline
like fingers dragging themselves ashore.
The reeds bent though there was no wind.
And somewhere beneath the surface,
women were singing.
   Softly.
 Like a lullaby meant to quiet a fearful, squirming child.
My feet carried me closer before my mind could protest.
The water was warm-
Eerily warm, as if the lake remembered what it was like to be alive.
As if she was reminiscing.

Shapes moved beneath it-
white fabric drifting like drowned wedding veils, patches of skin
hair floating in dark clouds,
thin wrists glittering with broken rings.
Brides.
Dozens of them.
Their mouths hung open--
full of river pearls.
And as they sang,
the lake breathed with them.
In.
 Out.
A living god taking the form of the water.

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