509 hush
pause. pole
my little raft among
floating lilies, between
cattails and over weed and tadpole.
I spend countless hours
here in the summer, dangling
my feet among the shallows and diving
down into the cool places that never
feel the touch of the sun.
It's like breaking into autumn, the cold
resisting and then parting for my
arrowing body and my lungs full of sunlight
and surface air, trailing paddle-bugs
in my swirling wake as I swim down and down
into darkness. It closes over me and still I swim.
Deeper. I must go deeper. I hear, now, the swish
and thump of my heart and blood, alive with fear
and curiosity. What lies below? Am I allowed to know?
The chill presses me into myself. I feel an urge to breathe.
I hang, remembering this is water, remembering
that I am despite myself a creature of light.
Remembering that the air would welcome me and still I stay
below, under the surface of the cold, hours and lifetimes
and reluctance between me and the surface. Time strains.
And I suddenly give in, kick upwards, breathing out as I hit
warm water and warmer water and then air and light too bright
giving into my air-breathing nature all at once with a gasp
too loud for ears that have listened so long to still cold water.
I float, the sun blessing my face without apology, and I breathe
swearing to the last of me I will go under again I will go
under and stay down and down until I understand
the chill peace under water
And every summer until I am seventeen I descend
and descend again, reaching for the cold
and the stillness that never quite comes.
Peace, I say. Hush.
--11.19.00