Mea Andrews
Treading Water
I have seen thighs
synchronize, quadriceps
bathed aqua
tightening, push
release
underwater arabesque,
bathing suits a unit,
uniformity I
never had
at any pool or
beachside. I envy the sharp
point of their
toes and the circles
of their hands, every
movement focused
on treading water
beautifully.
I’ve only juggled
bills, student loans, treaded
my husband, my
mother, the walk
downstairs so quiet
my hands on the wall
to support my weight
to stop the creaking. I’m wrapped
in the iron brown
waters of a river
that has spent its lifetime
eroding mineral deposits,
bare survival of simply
moving forward, no
time for chlorine
cleansing or graceful
sculling. I swim frantic, twice
a month I automatic
deposit, gulp in air
and get pulled back under.