Proximity

Susan Hughes

The lake sparkles, wave tips meeting the sunlight. 
Rock faces are stolid, rimmed with 
pine, maples, birch. 
The cedar dock reaches out from 
our narrow beach.
I pause 
at the top of the path, 
winded from the climb,
bathing suit still wet, towel over my shoulders,
turn to look back, then 
my breath catches—
the green plastic Muskoka chair shifts,
scuttles across the dock.
Surprise, delight. Manmade inanimate made animate.

Later, close to sleep, 
mind unwrapped,
the wind lifts the chair off the dock and into the lake.
Moving air, molecules under pressure,
and bob’s your uncle—water circles forward, down, and back,
that water’s not going anywhere but 
round 
and round, 
yet— look!            the chair                  floats                               away 

                                      ing            one wave                  next                 next                   next         
              air even! vault-                                                       
catches                   from                 to the     to the     to the

a bucket              tossed                 between           firefighters, 
a sandbag            heaved               between          dam builders

Bob can’t swim all that well 
so if he longs to return to 
shore, he’ll be in trouble but 
no!        

    a beer
He’s waving merrily, hoisting     in farewell

    up
like the Wizard caught     in circumstances
                                                              beyond                    
his control.

He might have sat, forever
but he’s  drifting away, 
man, manmade, 
finally loosed, sparked
by his fortunate 
proximity to the green plastic Muskoka chair.

The Science

Air molecules in the form of wind create waves on the surface of water. The air transfers its energy to the water, causing the energy to move across the ocean. The water, however, hardly travels forward; it moves largely in a circular motion.

When the Wizard of Oz and Dorothy board his hot air balloon, energy from a fire heats the air, causing atoms in the balloon to move faster and expand—and the balloon to rise. But when Dorothy leaps out to get her dog, the ropes grounding the balloon break, and the Wizard must fly away without her.

The Poet

Susan Hughes is the author of many award-winning children’s books, an editor, and a story coach. Her poems have appeared in Feral: A Journal of Poetry and Art, Feed,
Write, and The Hart House Review. She lives in Toronto, Canada. http://www.susanhughes.ca. Connect with her via Twitter and Instagram

Next poem: Quanta by D. A. Quiñones