Swimming with you in a glacial pond in Wellfleet
– water warmer than air in September –
so clear you can see twenty feet down,
perch flitting in between—miniature
submarines. It takes us all summer
to get to where we can swim
across and back Long Pond.
We need to relearn to relax and breathe,
turning heads to capture air,
returning to a fluid world
our bodies seem to remember
somewhere beyond thought – our arms extend
to pull and push the water behind
where legs scissor and feet paddle.
We slice through – smooth as seals.
Maybe this is the world we’ll return to –
the one we were baptized in,
the one where we spent most of our first year,
hooked up, enveloped, floating
in viscous warmth
until we grew too big to carry
and had to emerge
into the light of this world.
Could it be like that? Not heaven
but the murky dusk of our subconscious
where now we nightly float
and where we will return to remember
how to breathe and swim and see.
Ed Meek is