the crash of the lakes like the stinging slap of a last kiss. he grips your hair with whitecap-knuckles and pulls you down, down.
as the water fills your lungs you love him. as you dance between the bannockburn and the edmund fitzgerald you love him. as you succumb to hypoxia on the sandy floor of superior you love him still.
you want him laid out like flatland-farms and the surface of huron. he wants you haunting him everlong like the memory of a deer struck by his car.
but now it’s summer and he’s gone and the heat radiating off the expanse of parking lots feels like the warmth of your bodies in motion. crashing into each other like waves on rocky shores and god, you miss how he’d leave you bruised.
sometimes i think michigan only gives us summers to lure us into the graveyards of her lakes.
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