I went to the rustic, my exposed toes froze.
Shivering, we made it known
that we care about each other’s lives and interests.
Stuck sap on my neck and wrists
to freshen up and chewed on wild wintergreen leaf.
Boiled lake water from a pot barely clean
with old couscous permeating was my cup of tea.
Polliwag (pond), I learned that word in Kindergarten when we raised frogs in class.
Never again was that word relevant, until this adorably named water mass.
During the painful portage,
Pam informed me that frolicking chipmunks were proof of a magical kingdom,
a reminder that I was the pilgrim
intruding on their system.
A dream come true was playing my favorite old folks for my new favorite folks.
It set the tone.
With all pain came equal bliss,
until we let our canoes kiss
to acknowledge that this
was what we were about to miss.
In the diner I admit
that after we split,
everyone will sit
and continue to think about each other quite a bit.
