the lake up the street that won't freeze over

i walk up to the lake everyday while 
you're at work, it started out of curiosity
& became an obligation. lots of other
people in your neighborhood go to look
at the lake, but none of them watch it like
i do. the lake isn't really a lake if we're 
being honest, it's really just 
a shallow pool (about 5 inches deep)
where ducks sometimes visit  but it
sounds better to call it "the lake" as
opposed to "the large pool." around
the lake there's scraggly winter trees
& a wooden bridge over a creek. on my walks
i step off the trail momentarily to feel
the dead leaves chuckle beneath my shoes.
i encourage the lake to freeze over because
you told me that when you were little
people used to go ice skating on it,
as far as i've seen, the lake hasn't
even gotten close, just thin flakey ice layer,
like ice potato chips. the little lake 
& its surroundings make me feel useful. 
i just had surgery & i'm sick of 
asking you to do things for me.
i hide one of your bowls next to
the guest bed so i don't have to ask
you to get it down from the top shelf
in the cabinet. the bowl is all shades 
of blue, like the pacific ocean decided to
invest all its energy in becoming
a set of cereal bowl. the deepest blues
are at the very bottom & when i come
back from walks i sometimes stare
at the bottom of the bowl, i climb
inside & sink to the bottom of an ocean
no one has found yet. it's really only
5 inches deep but it swallows you.
yesterday, i saw a pair of husky dogs
step into the lake, they did so without
hesitation & i got the idea that i could
as well. it was stupid i know, with
the temperature hovering around freezing,
but it seemed wild & i wanted something wild.
sitting alone in your house i think 
about the lake all the time i'm not there,
i wonder who else is staring at it &
if someone was bold enough to amble through
the freezing water while i'm not there.
i check on the lake all day but seldom 
does anything change. it never does freeze
over, despite my unwavering support. i have
the mystical urge to fill the blue bowl
with lake water, i don't follow through 
on it, but i imagine myself kneeling
by the edge of the lake & dipping
the rim of the bowl in the cold water. 
you come home from work & i tell you
that i walked by the lake today. i don't
tell you that i love the lake, that we need
to help the lake, that we should all
go & sit by the lake, that i worry that
after dusk the water sits alone &
feels forgotten. instead we make soup
& sit by the fire in the family room.
as i drink the last drop of broth
i find the deep blue bottom of the bowl again.