» Poetry
Boundary Waters
Donald Platt
Accessible primarily by canoe, the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness, in northeast Minnesota . . . extends 150 miles along the U.S.-Canada border, covering approximately 1,098,000 acres . . .
— Explore Minnesota
I want to go
to the Boundary Waters, canoe its one thousand lakes,
hundreds of miles
of rivers. So many places I’ve never been. I’d like to see sunset
reflected in Tuscarora
Lake, when it’s so still you cannot tell the difference
between sky on fire
and water on fire. Rosanne and I could paddle together
in our red canoe
to the very middle of the lake. Her hair would outshine sunset.
One loon would call
to another loon with its otherworldly wail from across
wide water.
That’s all I want to hear. But Rosanne, who has been to the Boundary
Waters and back,
tells me gently, firmly, matter-of-factly—in the voice
I love more
than any other woman’s voice—that no, I will never go as far
as Tuscarora
Lake. My body with its nerve pain, unable to walk anymore
without its rollator,
would not be able to do even one long portage.
She’s right, of course.
And even if I were to canoe that cold, aquifer-fed water
so clear I can see
twenty feet down to the rocky bottom, always another
waterway is waiting.
Night calls me with its unanswerable cry. Death’s loon
cries out
to me to come, come. Canoe to him alone across
dark, starlit water
where the moon now rises. Keep him company upon those other
boundaryless waters.