I tried to write a sad poem
because the ache had gone
from my head to my chest and I
Couldn’t remember why it was
I’d decided to take a breath and
then another.
But instead, I thought of water,
of the day you came behind me
in the pool, arms wrapped, chin
on my shoulder.
I read that whales don’t die of old age
they simply stop one day,
they sit in the water and refuse
to swim,
refuse to surface,
breathe.
And while I don’t know if it’s true,
I know I sat in panic once, still
against beating waves.
They rushed and crushed and I
Tumbled, not yet knowing you,
not yet knowing how
you would teach me
to swim.
