Porte des Morts*
Ellen Savage
I left you gazing at Porte des Morts,
glassy blue, rimmed in green,
sucking air as if your lungs were gills —
like the trout we reeled in off the pier
I turn for a moment, hear a splash
Look back, you are gone
Glance at the bay, no ripple
A whistling haunts my hollows
You welcomed release, swam off forever
Years I hover, scan with dragonfly eyes —
think I see your scales flash new, live colors
among rocks in the deep, never to be caught
*Porte des Morts, which means Death’s Door, is located at the peninsula tip of Door County, Wisconsin, where the waters of Green Bay and Lake Michigan meet.
