Like the Proust clan, the Heidegger clan took
to walking the country roads. They had two
routes too: either the mountain ‘way’,
or down along the lake, over the ‘little’ bridge
(there was not a big bridge to contrast with),
and across Cemetery Island—
and if it was a nice night, all the way
to the ‘ether’ bridge (why or which ‘ether’?).
Between the Little Bridge and the Ether Bridge
there was only one house, a Mrs. Spooner’s.
Yet these were real bridges. You could not get
to either the Spooner’s farm or the Heidegger’s house
except by venturing across the narrow Ether Bridge.
It would creak and shift when
the unfamiliar would inch their cars out—
most got about five feet, and then backed up.
It was in their light
that Michael had first seen the dead:
The Unfamiliar that had drowned so often in the lake.
No one lived in the Spooner farm, no one
that occupied space in the physical world.
You can trust me on this one. The place was
a wreck. Old Doc Spooner had ‘drowned’ himself
by chopping through the ice.
Mrs. Spooner was just gone. Their only son
had died also in the lake. Michael would walk past
the ghostly house…so alone now…
Seurat would have us in all parasols,
is what he said.
That night, in that light—
Is what he meant.