Lake Michigan

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The water smells like rain and is tame,
like a friend waiting for an embrace,
walk in slowly, give your body time to
adjust to the chill, watch your pace.
The cold rushes around your legs,
undertow pulling and you reach for a hand,
you’re up to your waist, now delighted by
the transparent water and sand.

Your limbs are numb and then suddenly
they are not, like the lake made you a part
of her, you’re learning her by osmosis
and you move with her watery heart
that beats against yours, and you plunge in
to join her, her arms holding you high
and, for a moment, you miss the salt
but the sea birds still sing and you sigh.

She rocks you and then you cut away
swimming through her, dividing the waters
and now you are the master of her, like
one of Poseidon’s daughters.
Further out, the world turns turquoise
and the sky touches it with pale blue,
swimming back to the beach and family,
the wind whispering memories new.

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picture by Lisa Paul

Copyright ©2025 Lisa Paul

W3 Prompt #175: Wea’ve Written Weekly
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Published by lisaapaul

I’m a paralegal, a widow, mother and grandmother.

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23 thoughts on “Lake Michigan”

    1. I think I know what you mean. I love the water but also have a healthy appreciation for how dangerous it can be. The waves are so rowdy sometimes that I have to have help getting out. Humbling, but much safer. Thank you for your comment, I’m so happy it was realistic ❤️🩷

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  10. Pingback: REBLOG: ‘Lake Michigan’ by Lisa Paul – The Skeptic's Kaddish 🇮🇱

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