Poetry by Sheryl Guterl
Local legend tells
a winter tale:
A southbound stagecoach
took a short cut
across the frozen water,
hit a soft spot, and sank,
taking passengers,
luggage, and horses
to the bottom.
True or not, it’s reason enough
for mapmakers to name
this lake Haunted.
In an early September morning,
cooled night air
meets summer-warmed water.
Cotton-candy puffs
of fog roll over the lake’s surface.
Eerie, vaporized visions of pines,
cabins, docks, and beaches
come and go.
Spirits rise from the waves.
Sheryl Guterl claims these titles: mother, grandmother, former English teacher, former elementary school counselor, wishful poet, Albuquerque Museum Docent, alto, bookworm. Presently, she is cozied in a New Hampshire cabin, surrounded by water, birds, tall pines, and myriad critters. She will travel back to Albuquerque for the cold months.
