a secret wetland
caught hidden
atop a city plateau
from the marshy waters
spurts a fountain
a dog
canters into
the shallows
and robins twitch
they are only secretly happy
old photos of the park
show men cleaning
the reservoir
that was once here —
men with bowler hats
gave kisses
a sun trickling yolk
as if free I run laps
around old desires
and habits
across the iron-fenced trail
Victorian houses roost below
a rocking horse
filling a window
when I lean upside down
the houses swoop up
towards green
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This poem was written right after I went running on one of the first days in which last year’s interminable winter began to thaw into spring, and I discovered Cool Springs, a historical reservoir and park right around the corner of my Wilmington apartment.
mabel lee 