Ether Island: its Youth 1943 – 1954

February 23, 2011

…and if the bridge still seems to float
this morning, in thy mist, Ether Island—
the boards still creak and groan and shift
like bones under your weight—
it didn’t seem to matter, for
the Lorelei had sung,
the corpse had bloated, had grown thick—
and like sailors, the dead float to the surface
in musical notes, amid the children’s laughter—
and when Mrs. Spooner would drive her truck
across the Ether Bridge each morning at sunrise—
and when in winter you could drive across the frozen lake—
and see the face, his stars in Ether Island…

Don’t look down through the ice,
Mrs. Spooner.

Dr. Spooner never did.


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