I fell in love with my husband, Erik, the summer we both worked at a camp in the mountains. Though tired from wrangling campers all day, we had freedom to get up to wholesome, old-fashioned trouble together–not the kind of trouble that leads to later emotional regrets, but the kind that involves galloping horses bareback, repelling down the sides of buildings…and climbing water towers at night.
Water Tower at Night
Moonlight danced off your white-gold hair as
You climbed out of my vision,
My feet tethered firmly to earth.
Your voice echoed softly down,
Careful of roving lights on the road.
I called back, my words entombed,
Trapped in the steel ocean prison of
The rusted reservoir.
Separation from you,
Bars of metal and midnight:
These forced my feet loose from their anchorage,
Compelled me to
Steel fingers against a metallic embrace,
And brave cold rungs of the water tower.