2 poems

by Elizabeth Trevathan

St. Paul Academy and Summit School

A Single Summer

A shiny, black metal casing,
with shadowed grey innards
enclosed us.
Crushable black spots
from an unknown cigarette
and a radio flashed, shuffling through neon colors,
while country radio filled
our eyes and ears.
The windows were rolled down,
and the AC was turned off,
despite the humidity.
We were driving for a ninety-nine cent bolt.

A 1964 red, steel hulled Crestliner,
14 feet of my brother’s work,
and I was his helper.
Varnish filled my hands,
he was a blue mess.
It always needed a screw,
a bolt, lights, seats.
It needs a gas tank to make us go.

Our voices were louder
than all the engines on the highway.
We didn’t care who heard us,
our bad singing was our shout.
We focused on now.

A text from our parents
has us rushing to buy fast food,
and grabbing our dog.
As we head to a tan rock river bed.

A 1992 Harbor Master,
made for the Mississippi.
48 feet of old work,
We shaped her body,
cleaned her skin,
and we fed her too.

Snow Cold Skating

A borrowed ice drill from a family friend,
to see if the ice would hold,
and a newly bought shovel,
to clear off the handmade rink.
Brought happiness to my small head
bundled up in mittens and coats.
Momma said helmets were a good idea,
but she never said I had to.

A big brother,
an expert skater,
taught me
how to glide across the ice.
We bought new skates,
that already smelled like sweat.
And with all my nerves
bundled in my chest,
he held my hands and led me to the frozen river.
Day after day, I slowly got better
as snow fell like glitter pouring out of a bottle.

On the last day,
the eldest brother came,
to play a game of 2 v 1.
My brothers fought,
laughing at each other,
remembering when they were younger
playing every day.
And I sat unsure of where to go.