A WEEK AFTER YET ANOTHER CYANOBACTERIA WATCH ON THE LAKE

by Carla Schwartz

Above: ongoing map of cyanobacteria watches and warnings in Lake Winnipesaukee and other New Hampshire Lakes. Cyanobacteria is a natural part of freshwater ecosystems. But under the right conditions, it can grow too much and cause harmful blooms. Those can produce toxins that are harmful to people, pets, and wildlife, causing symptoms that range from nausea and rashes to muscle paralysis. Ted Diers, the head of the water division at New Hampshire’s Department of Environmental Services, says people should use good judgment when swimming or letting their pets swim. “If you see an area that looks particularly gross, that has a lot of green stuff in the water, you know, you may not want to jump in the water right there,” he said. —NHPR, August 30, 2024

It’s been days since I’ve been here, where the weather is cooling, swum 
here, a dish left on the counter, encrusted with old breakfast. I step outside. 
The sun, bright. The wind bites my skin. It’s a strong wind with harsh gusts 
thrusting leaves, acorns a-scatter, but I suit up for the cool, tap on my music, 
and step out onto my paddle board to face what the lake presents: a disorganized 
wind, flags pointing where they shouldn’t—into the forecast direction rather 
than against. I paddle with and against the swirling wind. I can’t help think about 
Francine, the latest named storm, drawing its strength from the warm gulf waters
as I ignore the chill wind and slide off my board, leashed to my ankle, to swim. 
I take off against the current, waves wanting to turn my body, to go where I hadn’t 
intended, so every so often I check my bearings to unstray. You might think I swim 
for punishment, punishment for not working the booths for the vote, for not 
dragging people’s asses out to vote, for not acknowledging there’s this hurricane
mounting in the gulf, building toward crescendo tomorrow to crash the Louisiana 
shore, and there will be one more and another and another unless we temper 
the warm waters, but I continue on my swim, not punishment, but passion,
to stroke against the waves, to keep myself from swallowing what the climate 
has begun to spoil, to keep myself afloat.

Carla Schwartz’s poems have appeared in The Practicing Poet and in her collections Signs of Marriage, Mother, One More Thing, and Intimacy with the Wind. Learn more at  https://carlapoet.com, or on all social media @cb99videos.

INSIDE THIS MOMENT

by Sarah Mackey Kirby

Image: A woman sits while people cross a nearby destroyed bridge as they evacuate the city of Irpin, northwest of Kyiv, during heavy shelling and bombing on March 5, 2022, 10 days after Russia launched a military in vasion on Ukraine. (Photo by Aris Messinis / AFP) via Planet Custodian

live the lakes,

the tethered sun,

the warm bread

slathered thick

with morning slaughter.

 

The trees refuse to

keep their distance,

limbs outstretched to catch

drops of raining hurt.

Spray us first, they say.

 

We’ve been here before.

Our trunks are strong

and old

and know

the ways of bombs.

 

The ones of us who’ll go

will grow again. From mud.

From bullet-casing ground.

Seedling sprouts through

crimson ash at dawn.

 

We are tired, the trees say,

but we’ve been made for poets

to scrawl about

and cry about

as we stay firmly placed.

 

The people wear their shoes

with newfound purpose.

The wind blows. The rivers flow.

The moon glows. They all know.

They remember.

Sarah Mackey Kirby grew up in Kentucky. She is the author of the poetry collection The Taste of Your Music (Impspired, 2021). Her work appears in Impspired Magazine, Muddy River Poetry Review, The New Verse News, Ploughshares, and elsewhere. She holds an MA in Teaching and a BA in Political Science from the University of Louisville.