Still Life with Lake, Lighthouse, Canadian Wildfire
Muskegon, MI
The long low sweep of the beam
on the lake like a sick child
reaching, the smoke catching the light
by its fragile throat, the light leaning
into the smoke’s rough hand
& staying, hanging over the lake
like a spoon thick with honey, like
some other sweet thing
that can’t fix a crushed throat—
Within Michigan, There Are Distances
We drive forty-five
minutes for fried fish
& eat it, barefoot, at
the beach. The sun
spreads out before us,
lowers slowly toward
the lake. We wipe
our fingers & wet
our toes. We grow
drowsy, sun-drunk
& giddy, lose grease-
slick napkins to
the wind. This
was worth it, we
think, incredulous.
How on earth
was this worth it.
But of course
it was—this cheap
walleye, this long drive
through deep forest,
dim tunnels of birch
dappling the road. As
the sun touches
down, we return
to the car, dry
our dirty feet. Then
we pull out of
the parking lot
& begin to drive again.
Born and raised in Lansing, Michigan, Patrick Kindig is currently assistant professor of English at Tarleton State University. He is the author of the chapbook all the catholic gods (Seven Kitchens Press 2019) and the micro-chapbook Dry Spell (Porkbelly Press 2016) as well as the academic monograph Fascination: Trance, Enchantment, and American Modernity (Louisiana State University Press 2022). His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in the American Poetry Review, the Cincinnati Review, Colorado Review, Washington Square Review, Copper Nickel, and other journals.
