Ocean, Miyuki Blois
I remember the pool where I first learned to swim.
Blue as the dark and wider than dream. I do not know
if they threw me in. I do not remember if they said,
“You cannot breathe water. You weren’t born fish.” –
but I remember, last December, gasping under a vast
dark sky, thinking I cannot go on like fish.
I remember, in biology, pumping a sheep’s lung full of water
until it burst. What do you do when you try to sustain yourself
on someone who reminds you of an absence of air?
Try to bail out your breathless vitals. Wish you had learned
the signs, or at least remembered them – but all I remember
is how blue was the pool, how helpless it made me feel
how strange it is to think swimming comes more natural