Poem: The Lake
My combat boots leaving prints in the dirt
Walking down a dusty old path
They say the future is a blank slate
But ahead, there are prints in the dirt
I haven’t come down here in quite a while
She stood on the docks with a joking smile
Hallways filled with a harmony and I
Could never understand why
The lake reflects an image of me
A brand new person, but a mockery
Of the idol who I want to be
Relying on broken memories
‘Cause even if you forgot, you left behind something
Strolling past the buildings and bridges
Hand clasped around my crystal necklace
Like me, it’s rough around the edges
I’m afraid I just can’t burn these bridges.
I haven’t come down here in quite a while
A bad self portrait on a ceiling tile
Dark rooms filled with film and ink and I
Held on, I held on tight
The lake refracts a mirror of me
Shaping its form so expertly
To the person who I want to be
Replay recorded memories
‘Cause even if you forgot, you left them here
The lake, it crafts a masterpiece
Of golden sunsets and verdant seas
Violet flowers, towering trees
Laughing as water came up to our knees
Friends reliving old memories
I will reclaim what was left here
When the emptiness takes control,
The lake’s still surface makes me whole
I walk in circles on that road
Made of wood and soil and stone
And on those days I feel alone,
The nature builds my heart a home
The scent of summer sweetness fades,
But in my head, it still remains
One day, my best friend made amorphous blobs out of clay,
And then she washed her hands in the burning lake
And I almost got run over by your car that night
But it’s my fault, and who knows, maybe one day I’ll follow you
Like tires follow furrows left in the dirt, telling themselves it’ll be alright
Sifting through pages for an image of me,
In the image of you I came to see
My brain was composing a symphony
Ideas formed from memories
Maybe I can write my own story here…
The lake is the place always waiting for me,
No matter my troubles, it is always ready
My hair grows longer as the days recede,
Red ribbons curl with a familiar breeze
Collecting all these memories
‘Cause even if you don’t realize, there’s a story here,
Always waiting for you and for me.
ES 2020
EMBER SZAFLARSKI‘23 (THEY/THEM)
Ember is a sophomore day student. This is their first year writing for the Woodward Post. In their free time they enjoy playing electric bass, listening to and composing music, drawing, reading, and creative writing, particularly poetry and fiction. They also make way too many terrible puns, and buy way too many Hi-Chews from the Student Store. Even though they’re almost 16, the only vehicle they can (poorly) drive is a golf cart.
Contact Ember at ember.szaflarski@indiansprings.org