A March Afternoon at the Reservoir

The trees are still a sea of shivering gray bones,

only the evergreen needles show signs of life

down here beneath the cloudless sky. It's not spring yet,

but we’re wearing our shorts because the air feels warm,

the sun feels so much closer than it has in months.

Our bodies stretched out across the gray wooden dock,

we watch the underbellies of Canadian geese

bobbing like white buoys on surface of the lake

until at last their sleek ebony necks emerge.

She stands and kicks her shoes off, “Come on, let’s jump in!”

And I roll my eyes, “You’re crazy, it’s way too cold.”

The couple lounging on the rocky ledge above

is staring at us now, the girl puts her copy

of The Tempest aside. “Pretty please,” my friend begs.

I shake my head, but sidle my way to the edge

and dip my wiggling toes into the frigid pond,

my best show of support. She shrugs and leaps, airborne,

then swallowed whole, splashing me with icy droplets.

She shrieks as she resurfaces, and I just laugh

as the ripples she made pulse around my numb toes,

Perfect spheres expanding larger from a small core

Like the celestial ones we both resemble

Now I realize how near the sun really is,

For she shares its fierce fire, and I’m a basking moon.