What is it about goggles that
they never work when you
need them most? Goggles that
flip when you are just trying to
get your wits together. But the girls,
they persevere. Laughing through the
leaky goggles, they fix their hair into caps
that inexplicably slip, and
try again.

He stood in line with all the others
practicing their step ins to the deep end,
but when it came to his turn, I could almost see the knots forming in his tiny stomach.

It’s OK.

He nods when I suggest another way.
Looking into my eyes as I count and
together take an exaggerated gulp of air
- I hope
that looking back, he’ll remember the
releasing of bubbles around us, feeling
held, and a triumph of his bravery.

Time passes with no regard
for my feelings. Cooly disregarding
all that I had imagined for how
this day to go and the bubbling
panic it induces with its every stride.

I’m learning to accept that I’ll
never catch it, and just -
immerse in its vastness, and allow
the currents to carry me through
and I’ll end up where I need to be.

I let the water take me in.
The heavy grief falls away
and instead I’m held. Enveloped
in the cool and cradled. Let me
stay here unseen underwater.
I can’t bear the air yet. I have not lost,
but I am mourning.

The breath is held in my head
unreleased. My stomach feels glued
down and my lungs brace for something
unknown.

In the water,
every stroke draws out another breath.
Air releases in streams of bubbles
as my body glides through the blue
stroke by stroke, a rhythm
takes hold. Inhale, release.

Inhale, release.
I remember again, inhale,
release.

The evening air whispers against skin.

The heat of the sun has dissipated and
the concrete tiles are gentle on my feet as I
walk across them.

The moon is in the sky
and the pool floor dances full of light.
Indiscernible from above, drama is
unfolding - a fantastical
theatre of water.

Loud and deep, with only the
soft sounds of lapping water to be heard.

I was swimming earlier than this memory.
I remember the pool with my mom and sister
trying to figure out the frog kick.

I remember my mom’s head bobbing
up and down. Watching me
try, teaching me how.

The water felt deep. I remember
dolphins, mermaids, a whole underwater world
and my mom.

Why are pools so blue
that electrified colour that almost
starts to buzz in the sunlight.
The white tiles glisten
and the gentle sloshing of the water
beckons. I could stay here all day but
if this is all the time I get,
I’ll enjoy it.

When water people try
something new and
run on land, the air feels
angry and as we go along
the harbourfront the jellyfish
blob at the surface. What does it say
that I’d rather swim with them than do this
again? But when it’s all and done, we laugh
and plan for another.

Disappointment on the first dip.
The sea is green, that pathetic
sludgey sort of green and you
wonder how much is water and
how much is goo. It is a reminder
that the ocean is living and not
my Instagram background. The
seasons continue, despite my
opinions and I get to be part of it all.

Friday morning we make the slow trek
to the swimming pool. Clumsily waiting
for the disabled access gate to open.
I know they’re wondering,
Are they here to swim?
Yes. On land,
my sister, she is weighed down
with wheelchairs and crutches, the clatter
of metal follows her every step. But
when I ask her what does she like
about being in the water, she says,
I can walk.

At 7:45am at the pool
there are only a handful of people here
mostly retirees feeling the relief to their
joints buoyed in the water.

We give each other space, splashing around
in silence. There is an understanding
that this is sacred, solace before
the day begins.

A moment of stillness and
even play before our clothes come
on and time goes on its way again.

I didn’t wake up for the sea today
instead I dreamt about her.

Wondering what hue of blue she
might have been in the sunlight
and whether
the long necked birds were
still waiting atop the floats to
strike at the shimmering slivers
of fish nipping at the algae growing
on the shark net that is draped deep
down towards the sandy bottom.

When plans get cancelled and time
feels as if it is slipping away. I
decide
not to lose. I decide to fill it,
fill time with water.

It’s where I decide
where I want to be. The water
is full of time. Endless
body filled with shimmering
life all flowing in waves and
the passage of time.

Carry less, be
more.
We make our lives mean
what they are. The answers
are found
here.

Submerged in the deep blue
unreachable.
The world sounds only of
the bubbles that gurgle at my ears,
and feels
soft and cool on my skin.

Thousands of silver speckles swim
by in schools flowing and
shifting around me. I want to
get closer but it’s not going to happen.

We’ll share the ocean a little longer.
I am the awkward visitor too happy
to see you. Maybe one day
we’ll be friends.

11 APR

It’s 90 days until my 35th birthday. I’m committing to write 90 poem drafts. I loved poetry and creative writing as a kid and I want it back in my life. Writing as a way to appreciate my wonderful ordinary life.

——————

Slipping into the cool blue
where no one can see me
play,
blowing bubbles and pretending that
I can fly.

In the depths and glimmers,
the niggles in my brain quiet,
I feel human again.