Memphre, My Love

The “out-of-standard” task today from the Imaginary Garden is to write about a “lesser-known cryptid.”

(A cryptid is an animal presumed to exist by people, even though there is no valid scientific evidence to prove it is real. And oh sure…there are a few that come to mind right away: bigfoot, the lochness monster, yeti, chupacabra. Those cryptids get all the attention, all the fanfare.) But…

Lake Memphremagog, +/- 40 sq mi of water bordering Vermont (US) and Canada, has its own alleged “monster”:

I know the things they say about her.

I’ve lived here long enough, sat around
plenty of late-night campfires, heard
all the close-call “She-almost-ate-my-
baby” tales, listened to about a million
women say, “My-husband-says-he-saw-her-
but-he-was-really-really-drunk,” watched
the eager tourists rent their rowboats
and set out for the lake’s deepest middle,
only to return deflated, with nothing but
empty cameras and really nasty sunburns.

But I can tell you this: Memphre’s out there,
swimming around. She is. She is. She is.
I’ve never really seen her but I know she’s
there, swimming. In the shallows.

I don’t swim in the lake that often, and
I only swim in the shallows, but she always
shows up to swim with me; always waits
until I’m relaxed and treading water; always
swims up real slow and makes a pass or two
between my thighs, then swims away. I know
she must like it at least as much as I do.
She always comes back for more.

So don’t tell me there’s no Memphre. Don’t.

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More monstrous poetry at:
Imaginary Garden With Real Toads
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