Poem: The Lake

My combat boots leaving prints in the dirt

Walking down a dusty old path

They say the future is a blank slate

But ahead, there are prints in the dirt


I haven’t come down here in quite a while

She stood on the docks with a joking smile

Hallways filled with a harmony and I

Could never understand why


The lake reflects an image of me

A brand new person, but a mockery

Of the idol who I want to be

Relying on broken memories

‘Cause even if you forgot, you left behind something


Strolling past the buildings and bridges

Hand clasped around my crystal necklace

Like me, it’s rough around the edges

I’m afraid I just can’t burn these bridges.


I haven’t come down here in quite a while

A bad self portrait on a ceiling tile

Dark rooms filled with film and ink and I

Held on, I held on tight


The lake refracts a mirror of me

Shaping its form so expertly

To the person who I want to be

Replay recorded memories

‘Cause even if you forgot, you left them here


The lake, it crafts a masterpiece

Of golden sunsets and verdant seas

Violet flowers, towering trees

Laughing as water came up to our knees

Friends reliving old memories

I will reclaim what was left here


When the emptiness takes control, 

The lake’s still surface makes me whole

I walk in circles on that road

Made of wood and soil and stone

And on those days I feel alone,

The nature builds my heart a home

The scent of summer sweetness fades,

But in my head, it still remains


One day, my best friend made amorphous blobs out of clay,

And then she washed her hands in the burning lake

And I almost got run over by your car that night

But it’s my fault, and who knows, maybe one day I’ll follow you

Like tires follow furrows left in the dirt, telling themselves it’ll be alright


Sifting through pages for an image of me,

In the image of you I came to see

My brain was composing a symphony

Ideas formed from memories

Maybe I can write my own story here… 

The lake is the place always waiting for me,

No matter my troubles, it is always ready

My hair grows longer as the days recede,

Red ribbons curl with a familiar breeze

Collecting all these memories

‘Cause even if you don’t realize, there’s a story here,

Always waiting for you and for me. 


ES 2020


EMBER SZAFLARSKI‘23 (THEY/THEM)

Ember is a sophomore day student. This is their first year writing for the Woodward Post. In their free time they enjoy playing electric bass, listening to and composing music, drawing, reading, and creative writing, particularly poetry and fiction. They also make way too many terrible puns, and buy way too many Hi-Chews from the Student Store. Even though they’re almost 16, the only vehicle they can (poorly) drive is a golf cart.

Contact Ember at ember.szaflarski@indiansprings.org