Category IV
(10th-12th Grade)

Pulling Life Onward

 

Come, my cousins said.

The moon is out on the lake, come see.

And so, in pajamas,

we padded along the boardwalk,

our footsteps soft and dull on old timbers.

But never a creak, never the gentle lap of water.

All was stillness, blackness,

no hint of the waving green that draped my paddle

when I guided my canoe in daylight, exploring, wandering

into the lilied coves of the island.

All was marbled darkness, marbled moonlight.

I never saw a lake so deep

with stars, as if a step could drop us

into lasting silence.

Life seemed to sleep. And yet,

between the weathered railings, moonlight

touched spiders weaving in the darkness,

long legs industrious

without a ray of sun.

In the reeds beside us, something

waddled and rustled and chewed

and when I leaned over, a muskrat

vanished with a hollow splash.

Then all seemed lifeless again

until, with a click, my cousin’s flashlight

put out the stars, rendered the water transparent,

and there, on the sandy bottom,

a snapping turtle roamed

from clump to clump of weeds, from mouthful to mouthful,

pulling life onward, always onward,

till we flipped off the light and he faded once more

into a depth of stars.

 

---

Ann Pedtke, age 17

Laingsburg, Michigan

Homeschooled

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