A Poem
The steps down to waters edge
Worn round by naked feet
I go there to look
And mark my days by strokes through icy water
I am looking for something cast away
Buried under my own dread
Grieve a loss for what never was
Only shadows of what may have been linger
The murkiness feels safe somehow
No one looks too closely here
Few slip into the salt with me–
It’s better alone
The cold comes hard, settles in, a steady march
Sinking through layers of tired flesh
The pinch of a year sucked out of me with one drive to Poulsbo and back–but one understands
I lead my own cold march into the slick mud
Hoping to swim one year of life back into me
A day an eternity.
But wait! Outside the bay a crab waves to me–
I am not alone.
Here is where I rest.
Mary Swims 