Life Studies

by Diane Scholl Issue: Spring 2016
You told me you rode the train to Banff
on a lark, all three of you Catholic teachers
from New York, sure every day would
be lucky.  Pat took photography;
Joan spun over the ice in wide circles,
blades flashing, skirt dangerously flared,
while you turned out sketch after
sketch from live models. When you
startled the others by drawing a naked
man, then a woman  with your name,
they thought it was you posing.

I’d swear I remember you rumbling
through fields crazy with larkspur, wheat
tossing in a stiff breeze, then laughing
together beside the emerald blue lake,
all of you still alive, still so young:
Joan with that radiant blonde hair;
the way you talked with your hands;
Pat’s camera sucking the marrow from
each scene.  I imagine it was bright
sunlight all week, your energy
drawing the peaks and water right
toward you, as if the world couldn’t bear
to stand austere and apart any longer,
little waves lapping the raw shore.


Diane Scholl

Diane Scholl is a retired Professor of English, living in NE Iowa, where she enjoys walks and bike rides among the scenic bluffs and in the river valleys. She’s published poems in Cider Press Review, Sow’s Ear Poetry Review, The Christian Century, and The Cresset, among other places.