Aurora Borealis
Elisabeth Crago
My son and I are driving north to the landscape that shaped me—
the glacial waters and fierce winters of Minnesota.
I want to drag this trip out, linger
in his half-light between college and adulthood.
His lanky frame curls against the window in almost-sleep.
My mind catches on slivers of memory—
baseball games, first dates, driving lessons.
Along the highway withered oak leaves cling to skeletal branches.
At Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore, we nestle our tent
among sand dunes. Lured by the thrumming of waters
we can’t yet see, our feet sink into the sandy trail.
Birch silhouettes carve black and white lace against a lapis sky.
Grasses grip dunes tight against rising winds.
Above a wide breadth of beach, endlessly lapping waves
gnaw at sandstone cliffs. Straddling a shallow ledge,
a lone pine’s finger-like roots clench an invisible foundation.
I want to tell my son how this lake sang to me,
how she whispered nursery rhymes, but I can’t find the tune.
That night, faint northern lights shimmer black sky,
their flickering rays anointing his unwrinkled face.
About the Author
Elisabeth Crago holds an MFA from Carlow University. She also has degrees in English from University of Michigan and Nursing from Lehman College, CUNY. Formerly a breast health services administrator in Eastern Pennsylvania, Crago spent 12 years in New Zealand where she was involved in farming, aquaculture, and served on the board of a meditation retreat center. In 2014 she relocated to Pittsburgh where she is active in Madwomen in the Attic. Her work has been published in Voices in the Attic; Eye on the Telescope; Dreamers Creative Writing; One Art Poetry; 20, Carlow University MFA anthology; Dionne’s Story, Vol. IV, and the anthology Love is For All of Us.