elderly slow-lane ladies smile at her
in their usual saggy suits.
she savors it again-
eau de chlorine
with a quick wave to the lifeguard,
not even flinching,
she breaches the pool’s chilly skin
her toes taste the tile and grout
as she dons cap and goggles,
rinsing first to create a seal
pausing to gather resolve
maybe just 30 laps today
(it is, after all, early
and she didn’t sleep well)
then
much less ceremoniously
than Moses,
she parts the waters
hands carve liquid
sinuous curves learned ages ago
feet pound an amphibious pulse
elbow up head to the side inhale
awash in repetition
water spills and sprays, displaced,
twisting in smooth torpedoes
dashing over her every freckled facet
except her masked eyes
(wells of wisdom, brim-full)
though it tries
to cruise their creased corners,
etched by years of laughter
head down three strokes kick exhale
that is not what she is
doing
.
look again-
she is listening.
lap after lap
mile after mile
bead after bead
listening.
speaking.
and even now,
her underwater prayers
are keeping me afloat
happy belated birthday, mom
special thanks to Rachel for the photo (wish I had a swimming one)
I'd appreciate any feedback on this, any words you think I should change or things I should add/remove - I'm thinking of submitting it this week to a poetry collection at school.