John Tozzi
Resevoir

I park the car a few blocks down, lights off
and walk into the woods --
following the voices of whispering kids,
my feet try to find their way
but I've never been to the rez before
and I stumble a lot, even though
Tom tells me where to step
over rocks, ditches and logs
Finally we find our way to the spot --
a gentle stone slope
before the water
clear black sky with the barest
suggestion of stars above.

Must be twelve or twenty of us,
at least, three cars full
of best friends and strangers
and old girlfriends, faces lit only
by the faint glow of cigarettes.

I sit down in wonder
at the quiet dark --
the sound of kissing
and bottles clanking
against rocks.

Night is warm, late May.
A breeze coming off the water
makes me want to drop a stone
into my reflection, because in the dark
I can't tell how far away it is.

Reaching out, expecting ten feet before it plinks,
my hand is wet even before I let go of the stone.
Amazed, I stumble up the slope
in the dark, to tell Tom my revelation.

He smiles because he knows how close the water is.

<< Back to Issue 4, 2002