I learned how to swim
in a small pool with yellow bars peeling
locking inside from out,
when I was enough, old,
we
lived in california
where it was always brown,
always burnt, the earth continually
freckled.
in between I sat on the
edge of the drenched sun
pool,
shifting on the
itchy concrete sandy from
use.
once, I dove
my breath somewhere between
the ladder and the
unbroken surface,
I jumped shaking reluctant,
and almost slapped the depths
with my toes.
there was water up my nose that
I didn't plug
and my eyes burned from pool water, my
throat tasted raw, my tongue
licked with chlorine.
despite the California sun I huddled
in my new bathtowel
done,
and watched the rest of the kids jump.
it seems like that a lot.
first, I dive headlong,
right away
my stomach lurches, I
go. then I sit on
the sidelines wet from
bare feet and watch.
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