Lake Michigan + Shorelines

When I wanted to write, and I was sick of the parks, or the diners, I would turn to the lake. Naturally a writer wants to be near water. I would ride my bike down these back streets among the million dollar houses, houses with gates and buzzers to be let in. My bike was this old english touring bike my dad had when he was a kid and I’m honestly surprised it rode at all. I don’t think I ever greased the chain once. I’d cruise through these neighborhoods, in the fall, with the leaves changing around every corner, listening for the lake. Then I’d take a turn and end up on the shoreline suddenly. Not inaccessible but not made for a beach day. These huge boulders would run up and down the coast. Boulders that look like a volcano erupted thousands years ago, like between the crags you might fall into an underground cave system. The waves on the northshore always felt darker than the beach further south. There was no breakwall, no barrier, and these boulders would take the full slap of the waves over and over. I’d leave my bike near the curb and climb my way through them, stand atop them like a lightning rod asking like a Moses for the water to part. Then I’d climb down toward the water, behind the boulders, out of sight of the trimmed hedges and fences. I’d find somewhere flat to sit and imagine if I would stay here until I died how long would it take to be found. Then in summer, when the dorms, without AC, were heat packed and the walls were sticky with sweat, I would go back to those boulders. The flat spot still there, probably still there now. The water between the rocks was absolutely still, perfectly clear, the flat sand at the bottom like a carpet. I’d sit there and write, then strip down and get in the water. The world shedding off of me into the calm water, dispersing like a firework. I could close my eyes knowing the waves would come back eventually and pull the world that fell off me back out into the ether and I’d hope no one stole my bike and ride home.

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Shorelines never end
a peeling thread that follows us
along a lake that goes on forever
forever as far as my eyes can see
tracing the horizon boundless in reality
fresh water waves ask the same questions
again & again & again & again
Out there somewhere is Michigan and Paris
All the space above the waves
is filled with hope and we can keep hoping
knowing we can drink up and make more