November, Grayling 1936, Across Northern Waters Tonight, Three Trees

November 

 

The river steeps loose-leafed and dark

and geese are chilled to whistle south

steam smokes the rim above the field 

 

the oaks—again—have missed the pour

hoard leaves like coupons, 

magazines.

“Waste not, waste not,” they shout,

“squeeze the year’s last savor out.

Want not want

not want

 

not.”

 

 

Grayling, 1936

 

Ghost fish, gray siren, you

reeled in dandied

anglers by the trainload,

your improbable fin fanning the Au Sable. 

Lumbermen’s drunken dash leered your landscape,

ignited the water, torched your

nurseries to myth, and stamped your name on this

gray town, still reeling.

 

Across Northern Waters Tonight

 

Scudding in a stiff nor ’wester 

pieces of a girl, long haired and strong,

are left behind where they belong

in this shin-tangle of cedar and fern

in the agate scree along this shore, 

wooed by waves remorseful.

 

Pieces of a girl 

who tossed her loveliness 

like sand into the wind 

—I wondered where they’d gone.

They’ve built a watchtower above the crown

left a grace on every thorn.

 

Three Trees

—after a painting by Manierre Dawson

 

Fruit was a dream in rows

tucked behind these shouldering dunes

who lift the sweet rains over and tamp

the west winds down,

a dream of little factories in wooden towns 

turning out three-point orchard ladders 

and crates stamped “Michigan”. 

 

In the age of steam,

pine and puccoon

—whose roots weave on beneath the loam 

were swept into apple, peach, and pear.

 

Spring is so fragile here 

it’s held in wood-ribbed goblets

whose sleeping leaves, furled in fists, wait

for the lake to tap the shore awake

to clear its throat, say

Now.

 

For Michigan poet Mary Katharine Parks Workinger, a love affair with the Great Lakes’

watershed (four generations in the making) not only informs her writing, it colors her reading. To

her, the lake “lapping with low sounds by the shore” is a sweetwater sea—fragile, eternal. Heard

always in the deep heart’s core.

 

Parks Workinger’s 35-year career as an editor includes work for three state universities, two

office furniture manufacturers, four independent nature presses, and an international wildlife

magazine. Most recently, she served as associate editor of the Middle West Review (University

of Nebraska Press). Her poetry has appeared in The Feast, Heart of Flesh, The MacGuffin, and

The Grand Valley Review. She publishes nonfiction essays on Michigan art, literature, and

history at Substack: https://michiganographer.substack.com/ and uses her Twitter/X account to

promote Great Lakes’ artists and writers.