by Lisa Abraham Doucet, 1993

No alarm clock

No traffic lights

As I climb down from my shaky bunk, the moist fog

Burns off the glassy surface of the lake.

I let the cabin screen door creak gently shut behind me,

And I walk the wooded trail in only my pajamas,

And an old green towel hung on one shoulder.

I leave the green towel on the end of the dock,

And the pajamas I fold neatly on an old, sun worn bench.

As I jump off the dock I look down at an endless mirror,

Just before I break the barrier to the other side.

I feel the icy smooth water cover every inch of skin.

I swim out, and then return to the dock.

I reach for the green towel as I stand on the dock and

Look out over the lake.

The tall pines keep quiet watch over their hidden treasure.

The glassy surface is once again tranquil, sleeping.

A single gull flies overhead and calls a hoarse

"Good morning" out to me.

(Lisa Abraham Doucet is a cousin of Kim Moe.)