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Early July
by Linda Opyr
Seven children in orange vests
gun the outboard and leave shore.
The sky promises blue afternoon;
the sun plays wetly at water’s edge.
Out there, things get choppy quick.
A wave climbs the bow and
end-over-end, their boat capsizes.
Not to worry. The kids are saved,
a newspaper reports.
I know this stretch of water.
Thirty-odd years ago, flipped there too –
the motor churning as it filled with water,
our young arms flailing beneath the surface,
grabbing for the boat. The prop still turning.
Nothing that did happen
as important as what didn’t.
That sound of the motor,
I hear it still.