Swimming
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When I am at the river I am a child again traipsing enthusiastically across her shores. When I am at the riverI search for flat rocksto skip across the water, gigglingas they bounce four, five, six times. When I am at the riverI wade into the crys
You know, when you’re drowning, you don’t actually inhale until right before you black out.
The instinct to not let any water in is so strong that you won’t open your mouth until you feel like your head’s exploding.
I couldn’t be more sure
Of all the nostalgia I’d endure,
If I were to explore
A calf love crisis
That was so hard to cure,
How your mummy, she knew mine,
They’d been friends
The bottom of the ocean.
Not viewable to anyone. 95 percent unknown.
Yet, many people do not fear it. I am not one of those people.
Yet, my senior project was to swim one mile.
A sudden realization in the back of a subaru
A panic, driven by an anxiety I am clinically chained to
With all of the time I have been given and all of the love I have been given what have I done for myself?
The dwindling down of supper.
Lead me to believe malnutrition was the cause.
I drank more water.
Forgot my pills.
Consumed myself with my work.
I took a poetry class
for the first time
when I was 21
in my last year of college.
And it felt
like the first time I swam
when I was seven
on the last day of swim class.
“I’ll make it,” I say
As I am five feet deep in a pool of my problems
I am not sure of myself
I cling to the wall
Breathing doesn’t come easy
“You will make it,” you say
Swimming
By Sarah Martin
It’s time
You’ve been waiting for this for awhile
Standing behind the blocks
Talking with friends
Stretching and getting your muscles ready
Feeling excited
I've gone around the world.
I've gone to seek,
the mountain peaks
To swim every lake
without any breaks
To climb the trees,
And overlook the seas
I''ve gone into the tunnels,
Take your mark, beep!
I jump as I hear the sound of the buzzer.
I live for these moments,
the moments the adrelaline rushes through your body at the start of a race.
I live for these moments,
Every morning,
My alarm rings,
I hit snooze,
It rings again.
My feet hit the floor,
The sun is yet to rise,
I stumble to get ready,
Hating to open my eyes,
I put on my suit and drive,
I have a love hate relationship with swimmingIt seems like it’s up and down every weekBut my tolerance has grown over eight yearsNow I know how to deal with it.I spend so many hours in the poolAll the tears and disappointing memories fadeWhen I wi
At night, I wait for her to come,
My rays glistening silver on the pool below.
The forest is quite and still;
The stars wheel and dance around me.
At night, I come to the pool in the forest;
The dead end sign is just a sign.
And that dividing wall is just a wall.
Those stereotypes are just words
from the ignorant ones.
I am better than what you think.
I am more than just a minority,
I'm trying desperately to hold my brain inside my head
To stop it from running out and pudding under my desk
Maybe it's the water that makes it all better
In closing me in its cool embrace
Perhaps it's the pain,
I am from the swimming pool,
From water soaked concrete and slippery blue tiles
I am from a hole in the ground
Lined with cement and filled to the brim with cool water
I am from the stands
A shot fired across the decka weakened hull. A turning tide.Well, all our anchors hang on chainsand dangle off our changing minds.
I can't breath
The water rushing past me, the taste of chlorine on my tongue
It's almost over, just a little bit more
The wall gets closer, my legs yearn to quit
Don't let them beat you
She went for a swim. When the sun was high and vicious and scalded the ground she walked on, she went for a swim.
Those cool summer nights
Not a cloud in sight Catching fire flies The glisten in your eyesOut under moon lit skies Time sure flys bye On those summer nights
Somewhere, I disappear to. A place in which I become
Weightless, like a butterfly.
I shouldn’t be able to breathe, but
My new-found gills slowly begin to make themselves useful and
Preparation. I have practiced long and hard for this one moment. Anticipation is hardest. Sitting in a plastic chair. Many emotions pass through me. Nervous, hopeful, excitement, fear. I don't know which to choose. People wish me luck.
Legs filled with tiny critters,
Spurred to action by some life or death mission
Arms limp yet alive,
Flailing about, swatting an invisible swarm of flies
Teeth scorching cold,
I never knew my tongue could sweat
Bare arms and toned legs fill my view
My own tremble slightly as I make my way to the edge of the concrete
I try to remind myself that it’s only the beginning
I try to remind myself of my hours of preparation
Velvet mist
Across the serene blue surface
Soft steam
Uninviting warmth telling me to jump in
Silent clarity
Diving in, water rushing around me rippling the un disturbed water
The man stepped onto his chosen pedestal. Heart racing, adrenaline pumping, but outside, he was completely still. Waiting. He bent almost in half as the impersonal authority commanded. Then, silence. Waiting.
