The mosquitos are like rain, drunk rain, drunk on slow
blood. The sun is like a Summer friend. Here and gone.
Tired on the screen porch, I am pictures stuck in plastic sheets
on harvest nights. Rafting the Nemekagon, portaging on Lake Migisi,
camping in trees, canoeing the Brule, hiking the continental divide.
I have other pictures, undeveloped, of staying too long on the ends
of docks, unwilling for the day the to end. Of falling down with a wet
and heavy back, unable to stitch another hour to the disappearing day.
Pictures of lighting Coleman mantles, crawling under cracked stone
bridges, wading, shaving in rivers, gathering wood, lashing poles,
soaping the kettle, blowing on birch bark beginnings of fires, endings.
The neighbor’s bug zapper calls out in alarm.
Amused, I hit the snooze bar one more time.
Spiders in the corners of the tent.
Spiders under loose bark.
Spiders in dry shoes.
Spiders in hair.
About the Author
Tim Moder is a member of Lake Superior Writers and The Bad River Band of Lake Superior Chippewa. His poems have appeared in Door Is A Jar Magazine, Main Street Rag, Penumbra Online, and others. His poetry book was published June 2022 by Alien Buddha Press. Find him at timmoder.com and on Twitter @ModerTim.