I wrote this for a poetry class, so there were requirements to be met—namely, that I had only ten minutes to compose the piece, and had to put some form of the word ‘shiver’ in, as well the words ‘raft’ and ‘ambulance’… The result turned out to be a memoriam of sorts to my maternal grandfather, a man who always carried a sort of quiet mythic air about him. And the doughnut shop in question is Alie’s, in case you were wondering—if you live on the East Coast…stop by there and devour some for me, will ya?
Lake Cha(rgoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungam)augg and the Mournful Doughnut.
Roiling mists on Lake Chaugg hide a raft
a springboard for naked flips into the water
the sweet, high laugh of a friend’s lover,
later, the sound of an ambulance, a banshee’s wail
someone in the family has died, will die,
the sídhe keens, my aunt insists she shows up before each death.
Now, all that exists is that lake, cloaked in the colors of dawn,
another ambulance behind us on the road in Middlesex, Mass.
Shivering, I ride shotgun, a box of doughnuts, best in Rhode Island, at my feet.
Jelly with powdered sugar, cake with white frosting and sprinkles.
I can’t eat the jellied ones anymore, too much sorrow in them,
memories of a dead, mourned, and never-really-known grandfather
linger in strawberry-red smears on a white shirt every Friday morning.
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