Ripples

Roberta Shellum Dohse

February 25, 2024

Green lichen, silvery rocks, dark shadows, 

Waver in soft ripples that mimic my face, 

Then shatter, sprinkling the woods in crystalline 

Light as the frog lunges into the pond.

Slowly I see myself re-emerge from this chrysalis

And I wonder at this changeling who has taken my place, 

A face so different from the one I remember, 

From the person I know myself to be.

Looking back at me I see my mother

The hair no longer bearing a golden sheen, 

Now wispier than an angel’s breath, soft 

Lines clustered ‘round my mouth, my eyes. 

Disturbing, this absence of color, this faded 

Being a mere shadow of before. But my heart 

Still beats, music still tumbles, poems and pictures 

Still wait to be drawn to the light.

Though I can no longer scramble over the rocks

Or bound up four flights of stairs of my youth

Am I now become invisible? Not here in this pool, 

Deep in the forest, where nymphs gather round 

And vibrate the air with memories and magic 

Trigger ripples in the pond bending the light 

And ripples in time as I stand on the precipice

Of unknown adventures, just waiting for me.

Roberta Shellum Dohse hails primarily from California. After living on a farm in northern Minnesota and in Oregon, she moved to Texas in 1980, attended law school, and has practiced law in Corpus Christi since 1997. Formerly a flight instructor and a college professor, she has always loved to write.