by Terry Wilson

Swimming, I’m moving through the water gliding
Slowly drop in a rock plunk then emerge dripping.
Right arm cuts water hand cupped pulls water back to me.
Legs outstretched, flutter kick up down
Hardly wounding water.
Head turns to right, gulps breath, face in water again.
I move water supports me soft yielding
It continues

Memory: I swim at the downtown YWCA Buffalo pool
Four days after being raped
Heavy with grief
Anger Weight
Enter water
God I can still swim.
My body still works
I am not dead.
I am here.

Turn on my back, watch sun setting, Lake Washington.
Slow backstroke no hurry
All the time I need.
Looking straight in the light
My face a sunny photograph.
Then turn over, my belly wet.
Pathway of the sun an aisle
I move along as if getting married
My wedding gown my own skin.
I marry myself.

Water Bugs – Nancy Beauregard