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The Pond in Summertime

The Pond in Summertime Mason-Dixon Lines P O E T RY B Y DA N I E L A N D E R S O N "She is the lexicon of August trees." Gold pollen floated on the air, And through a sunlit galaxy of flies I watched a silver, glinting muscle rise, Thrash once, then wriggle quickly down. I wouldn't swim because I was afraid Of the snapping turtle and the sly snake. No matter if they were not there, The mind would always see them there. I didn't watch the bullfrog leap But I heard the horrible splash; I saw the rip in the cool cud Where he ignited from his sleep Then, fat and flaccid, drifted back Into the mysterious moss and mud. There was a ruined dock, a tire swing. The burgundy complexion of the pond Had mostly blistered up in green. My cousin Mary peeled her sandals off, Stripped down to her blue bathing suit, And dove into that amniotic deep. When she came slogging out, her legs And arms were crazed with muddy rivulets; Her suit was splotched with dabs of olive foam. I was eleven, maybe twelve. Today a great, green lather works across The http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Southern Cultures University of North Carolina Press

The Pond in Summertime

Southern Cultures , Volume 8 (2) – Jan 5, 2002

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Publisher
University of North Carolina Press
Copyright
Copyright © 2002 Center for the Study of the American South.
ISSN
1534-1488
Publisher site
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Abstract

Mason-Dixon Lines P O E T RY B Y DA N I E L A N D E R S O N "She is the lexicon of August trees." Gold pollen floated on the air, And through a sunlit galaxy of flies I watched a silver, glinting muscle rise, Thrash once, then wriggle quickly down. I wouldn't swim because I was afraid Of the snapping turtle and the sly snake. No matter if they were not there, The mind would always see them there. I didn't watch the bullfrog leap But I heard the horrible splash; I saw the rip in the cool cud Where he ignited from his sleep Then, fat and flaccid, drifted back Into the mysterious moss and mud. There was a ruined dock, a tire swing. The burgundy complexion of the pond Had mostly blistered up in green. My cousin Mary peeled her sandals off, Stripped down to her blue bathing suit, And dove into that amniotic deep. When she came slogging out, her legs And arms were crazed with muddy rivulets; Her suit was splotched with dabs of olive foam. I was eleven, maybe twelve. Today a great, green lather works across The

Journal

Southern CulturesUniversity of North Carolina Press

Published: Jan 5, 2002

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