Pool Swim

So, we begin underwater. All is light blue. With the waterlines reflecting on the floor. Swaying back and forth. We see clearly, though we’re not wearing goggles. Little girls, and little boys in swimsuits. Diving and rising all around. The noise is muffled as always. We don’t feel the urge to breathe. We’re not even holding our breath.

This is strange. We think. Are we dead? Can others see us. Are we ghosts?

All around us, now comes this warm glow. It’s soft and peaceful. It glows stronger all around us. We feel at peace. We see nothing but white. We feel nothing but peace. We are alone, yet we are with everyone. God has chosen us. Out of all his creatures. It’s us that have the privilege of being chosen. We feel His love. We feel Him. All around us. He is all of our being.

But now, we shy away. We feel unworthy. We have nothing to give. So, we turn. We run. We see ourselves as nothing. We feel ourselves apart, separate. So we flee. We reject this purity. And we’re left alone.

We’re back underwater. Struggling to rise to the surface. To breathe. But we’re too heavy. We swing our arms, and kick our legs, and just sink deeper. Beyond the bottom of the pool. We sink through the floor. Holding our breath. We feel faint. We feel tired. Our arms and legs ache from the effort. Our lungs are about to fail.

Not being able to hold our breath any longer. We inhale. And water fills our chest. We flail wildly. We shiver and become tense. Then we let go. We see darkness. We feel cold.

Then nothing.

Sow then sow

As if by design,
a liquid mating ritual.
Gift, from who.
so ever.

May all your other conquests be as funny
trickle, drip, drop, thick.

Remember how she looked back.
Holding her clothes to cover her blame.
Soft anger brewing before the flame
or attack.

Attractive, yes. We had our perceptions pre-altered.
Making the awkward so smooth.

Naked and proud. Standing humble
awaiting the scowling
drawn-back hand.

“Tell me your fears.”
“No.”

Such innocent deceit.
The angriest of dances,
amidst the lit-moon paper floor.

Hair that flew, clothes that died,
repairs to years of anguish.

“Listen to your skin, dear.”
“It’s lied to me, yet again.”

That red…
means ‘sacred’
that fluid…
means ‘scared’

Touch my outsides with those new emotions.
Leave my insides be, for now.

We never knew.
And always waited.

Even the toughest cower

It’s a sunny afternoon. Outside. Inside it’s a different story. Inside there are cool walls, and empty hallways. A fire escape can be seen at the end. It’s the 4th floor. A soft female voice can be heard. Singing a melody of 5 notes. The voice is behind and before.

It’s night. A flashing siren can be seen. It bathes the crowd in red at intervals. A woman in a bathrobe, an officer standing next to her on the damp pavement holding a clipboard. Squad cars. The store is brightly lit, although empty. A scream is heard off to the left. Everyone turns. Nobody moves.

The hallways are always empty. Except on visitors day. Then the costumed old ladies walk tirelessly up and down them. They wear sari and kimonos. They walk upright and humble. Slow and relaxed. Their bare feet bleeding from the staples, pins, and tacks. Upon standing in front of one, she stops. Lifting up her mask, we see the tears streaming down her face and her lower lip bite. She looks not up. She looks not down. Her gaze is focused on her joy, and she sees nothing else.

The scream is heard again, only further away. A few of the officers run off holding their flashlights, hands on their belts. One of their hats falls off. It shatters on the ground into a thousand blue/black fragments. The officers are now running towards the ocean. Tearing off pieces of their uniforms. Eager to take a swim.

Since about ’97

So there lies a 16-year-old. He’s fast asleep. Doesn’t look like he sleeps very calmly. The sheets and covers are horribly knotted. We see him on his belly head to the side. The striking image of a police chalk outline.

From our overhead vantage point we can’t quite reach him to touch. But we see him clear. We zoom in and see what he sees.

Newspaper clippings blow in the wind. No grass. It’s dry. Hot. We’re scared. There’s no music playing. But we feel as if we’re in some cheesy horror movie. We walk towards a run-down building made of sheet metal. Every 5 seconds we look behind. Nothing.

We walk cautious. We walk silent. We’re scared, don’t know why. Why are we here? What’s going on? Is this real? There’s the sound of our footsteps. The sound of the paper twisting about. Flashes of a melted disposable fork stick in our mind. The smell of burnt plastic. We’re at the building now, except we’re nowhere near anything. We’re driving down a highway. We’re going too fast. Can’t really control this thing. Changing lanes to pass. Changing gears to speed.

Flat tire.

We’re at the building again, entering. We’re not scared anymore. Newspaper says something about a knife sale. Special blowout deals. A shotgun is on the far wall. If we can reach it. we’ll be good. There’s much trash here. Hard to walk. Each step requires lifting knee up to chest level. Slow and steady. We misjudge our distance and our foot  slips from beneath us. We fall face-first onto a metal pipe. No pain. Just surprise.

We’re driving again only we’re in the back seat now and we see the whole thing take place with startling realism. Our front tire blows out first, driver side. At such high speeds hardly anyone gets away. While the car is flipping, we’re serenely looking at a green butterfly that hovers in the empty space between seats. We spin but it doesn’t. It’s wings are fluttering and stopping randomly. A peaceful serenity falls upon us that tells us this is not the end. We wait until it is.