MI Happy Place

Kezia Miller

The sky’s rich, vibrant, bright blues 
swirl,  
and the sun smiles. Below rests Torch  
Lake, the freshwater Aphrodite,  
stretching 18 miles long and 3 miles wide. 
She mirrors the vast, blue above.  
This is Heaven.  

 

Fresh coffee fills our home  
but vanishes when I step outside.  
Pine needles, flowers, oh how they  
sigh,  
bathing my nose; the bitty  
hints of warm cherry pie 
is the breath of Pure Michigan.  
I am in Heaven.  

The lake is a succulent  
story. A Sandhill crane descends 
for its breakfast, splashing and spinning, 
sending drops of water to surge, then 
slip.  
A speck of vibrant red, a kayaker peacefully 
gliding on the glass, their oar gently cracking  
its perfection, configuring celestial slits.  
Yes, Torch Lake is a heavenly story. 

High above, the yellow rays shine.  
The heat pulses and stings my wet,  
sandy skin.  
The water gleams. A Caribbean-blue  
rainbow of teal, cobalt, and indigo. 
I am in Heaven. 

Gasoline fumes cough as we idle.  
It’s like a favorite smell, new shoes, 
or bleached laundry. We hit the gas 
and head straight for the open. My hair,  
millions of in-fin-i-tes-imal whips, 
swats  
my face and gets stuck in my lip gloss.  
I am only left with the sound of speed to screech 
in my ears. But I don’t care.  
I am in Heaven. 

The water, so pure, bubbles  
below and is refreshed by the spring  
water feed. I jump in the water; 
chills rush through my body; my clean 
shaven legs are now slightly  
spiky.  
But I don’t care. I am in Heaven.  

The stars dance, painting the sky. Creamy  
smoke 
devours the air while the crisp breeze 
swaddles my body. We all sit  
with our fleeces sufficiently zipped,  
with sticky white fingers, and hints of dark, 
sweet chocolate that cling to our cheeks.  
We are in Heaven. 

The atmosphere is a bubble  
of loud laughter and music,  
as we circle the campfire,  
singing  
old camp songs. Then, suddenly  
across the lake a voice roars, “SHUTUP!”  
But we ignore it because we don’t care; 
we are in Heaven.   

I crawl into bed, my eyelids heavy and stale.  
I feel grains of sand between my skin 
and sheets. But I don’t care.  
I am in Heaven  
as I fall sound asleep to the velvety,  
lush waves hitting the beach  
shore  
as they meet. This is Heaven.  

Contributor's Note

Kezia Miller is a senior studying English and minoring in Creative Writing and DHSS. After she graduates, she and her husband will move to Kentucky to undertake their dream of cultivating a flower farm. She plans to continue her education in and passion for writing and hopes to find a job where she can apply both! She would like to thank both Professor Vogrin and her peers for their support and guidance and whose talent and insight have been invaluable. 

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