Canoe Trip to Possum Lake

We carry a canoe along the path
and climb under a canopy of oaks.
The forest invites us.
It was a test we passed as boys
when we hiked here over rotting logs.
Yellow jackets swarmed out
and attacked us.  We were intruders.
The canoe grew heavy with fear on our arms.
We couldn’t drop it and run.
We reached the lake a half hour later.
Each of us swollen.
This story passes between us.
It was a victory we tell ourselves;
we could have died from our wounds.

We return again to this familiar lake.
We make a path each time.
I see my youth on the water. 
We plunge into the cold lake splashing,
getting wet fast, and measure our worth.
We want to be sure boys canoe here
again and again.  There are no adults.
This is the water of boyhood
and the fear of being lonely.
It grew up and grows older.
We make what we can out of water.