---

Among the Hemlocks

On the shores of Lake Wallenpaupack,
a thick-pelted mink scampers
up and over lichen-coated granite
left dry on the banks,
just out of aqueous reach.

I marvel at her slinky deftness,
her effortless, oily movement among the stones,
her back flexing to match the gentle waves,
rippling astride her hop-dive-curl-stretch:
lovely syncopation in walnut brown.
Then, finally, in mid hop-curl,
she is gone.

My father has made it halfway down
the steep stone steps
that lead to the water’s edge.
From there, I take his hand
and help brace his body,
so fragile now I barely feel
its weight against my arm.

I take care he does not misstep—
a fall would surely mean a break,
the final hobbling of an already
failing frame.

Together, we reach level ground and pause.
We talk about the great blue heron
seen from the window early this morning–
how enormous they must be to take up
so much of the pane at a glance—
and at that distance!
I tell him of the wooly mink,
long and sleek and blink-swift.

My father says little—
A manifestation of his condition,
his neurologist tells me.
But I suspect he is thinking
about the mink with envy
as I offer my arm for ascension.

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An MFA candidate at Arcadia University, Philip Andrew Lisi resides in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, where he teaches English by day and writes poetry by night alongside the ghost of his cantankerous Wichien Maat cat, Sela.