The First Perfect Number

I'm better at poetry than math.

Weekend Trip to Saugatuck Dunes on Lake Michigan.

The trail seemed longer with temperatures close to 100°.

It’s hard to believe we are nearing the end of July already. It’s been a beautiful and full and slow and soft and extremely hot summer so far. As the world spins deeper in chaos and violence, I’m grounding myself in nature and water. I’m listening to the wisdom around me, guiding me to what my role in the resistance will be and become. How do we challenge power without being overcome by it? How do we counter despair without falling into it? Wherever I go, however I get there, I know writing is part of my path.

Thanks to each of you for traveling with me these last five weeks through poetry and stories. And for sharing your own memories, experiences, and curiosities. Today, I share one last (at least for now) summer up north inspired poem. Listen and read below.

The First Perfect Number 
©Rebecca Wilson, July 29, 2025

wherever you are in Michigan 
you’re never more
than 6 miles
from a body of water
   a pond 
   a stream
   a lake
   a river

my heart is never more
than 6 beats 
from a memory
that fills or drains me
gives me goosebumps 
or causes my spine to shiver
weakens or sustains me

tubing down the Au Sable 
a cooler filled with Mt. Dew
and melting dreams 
flipping over purposely
watching my last pack of Marlboros
   drown 

the path in the state park
where I found an overturned tree
and thought it was a portal 
to another galaxy 
started writing stories about my escape
friending an alien fish
who lived under the waves 
I wish I had kept those pages

the day I showed my mother
the lighthouse where I was born
and she took new baby pictures 
as I climbed to the top

the beach where my heart stopped 
as I fell in love
only to realize no matter how deep
loving another means very little
when it leaves you hating yourself

old church bells chiming 
in an overgrown cemetery 
not far from my ancestors’ farm
all it took for faith to unravel
learning later
it hasn’t been in working order for years 
still wondering what it was I heard

the backroad home
from Tahquamenon Falls
a healing route to travel 
after revisiting the place I took back my power
surrendered in hopes of being deemed acceptable

walking along the bay in a storm
collecting stones
giving each a name
then building an altar
to lay those burdens down
returning
unsuccessfully searching for them 
a decade later
grateful 
realizing how light I’ve become 

distance measured by miles
multiplied by proximity to water 

6 
the first perfect number 
proof that who I am 
and everything dividing me
is equal
to one

---

Poetic Prompts
Choose any or all or none to write or reflect about.
Share in the comments if that feels right. I’ll do my absolute best to reply to everyone.

• When is the last time you were close to water?

• Pond, stream, lake, river, or ocean…do you have a favorite?

• What’s your perfect way to spend a summer day?

• How is climate change making itself known in your location this summer? Extreme heat? Destructive storms?

Water-fully Yours,
Rebecca & 10CAMELS

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