THE OL’ SWIMMIN’ HOLE
I like swimming on a hot day. In a cold pool. So cold I’m afraid to jump in at first. Then when I do, there’s that few seconds before I hit the water. That I hang in mid air and anticipate the cold and the shock it will send through my body. You could live a lifetime in that moment before you hit the water.
Small spineless worms, carrying tear stained messages of fear in their mouths, wriggle up and down my back. Their vestigial legs flapping lifeless by their sides. Hot worm slime burns my skin and I long for the chill of liquid that will soothe it, slap me in the face and make me appreciate being alive.
My fingertips touch water and it sucks me down into its belly. I can breathe here because of the cord. My feet spasm and I kick. I didn’t mean to, but somehow I’m supposed to. You have to kick my mind tells me, or you’ll never get out. There’s an old man in my mind. He’s sitting in a tiny rocking chair that creaks and he constantly tells me what to do. I don’t think he belongs there and when I evict him, I’ll plant red flowers in the window box and get rid of the fluorescent lights. And I like carpeting on the floor, so I’ll put that in too. It’ll be bright and cheery in there. Right now, it’s all dingy and yellow and smells like urine and stale cigars. My foot kicks again. Yes, I’ve got to put someone else in control.
Pieces of what will be me float by. Round flat thingies and snake-like twisties. My eyes open but remain closed. With transparent eyelids, my vision is undeveloped, but still I see too much.
The little people with button eyes and wrinkly skin live in this part of the pool. I think I know them but they never talk to me. They just look at me with big sad eyes and turn away exposing the holes that have been poked in their heads. Once one of them tried to talk to me. She seemed kind and came close, reaching out a shriveled hand in a gesture of friendship. But the others grabbed her away and took her back to the corner. Sometimes I hope I’ll see her again, but the waters pretty cloudy where they live.
Sound can be seen now. It looks ragged and sharp with stinging metal tips. I can hear it too. This is new for me. First I thought I was dying again but it seems all this is normal even though there’s not much to hear at this depth. Once in a while I hear an angry voice. But mostly, words are unsaid and they come from lipless ghosts that dwell nowhere. They stand shivering besides their graves draped in white veils that blow in the wind. They found their death at the bottom of the pool and await resurrection...
I like swimming on a hot day. In a cold pool. So cold I’m afraid to jump in at first. Then when I do, there’s that few seconds before I hit the water. That I hang in mid air and anticipate the cold and the shock it will send through my body. You could live a lifetime in that moment before you hit the water.
Small spineless worms, carrying tear stained messages of fear in their mouths, wriggle up and down my back. Their vestigial legs flapping lifeless by their sides. Hot worm slime burns my skin and I long for the chill of liquid that will soothe it, slap me in the face and make me appreciate being alive.
My fingertips touch water and it sucks me down into its belly. I can breathe here because of the cord. My feet spasm and I kick. I didn’t mean to, but somehow I’m supposed to. You have to kick my mind tells me, or you’ll never get out. There’s an old man in my mind. He’s sitting in a tiny rocking chair that creaks and he constantly tells me what to do. I don’t think he belongs there and when I evict him, I’ll plant red flowers in the window box and get rid of the fluorescent lights. And I like carpeting on the floor, so I’ll put that in too. It’ll be bright and cheery in there. Right now, it’s all dingy and yellow and smells like urine and stale cigars. My foot kicks again. Yes, I’ve got to put someone else in control.
Pieces of what will be me float by. Round flat thingies and snake-like twisties. My eyes open but remain closed. With transparent eyelids, my vision is undeveloped, but still I see too much.
The little people with button eyes and wrinkly skin live in this part of the pool. I think I know them but they never talk to me. They just look at me with big sad eyes and turn away exposing the holes that have been poked in their heads. Once one of them tried to talk to me. She seemed kind and came close, reaching out a shriveled hand in a gesture of friendship. But the others grabbed her away and took her back to the corner. Sometimes I hope I’ll see her again, but the waters pretty cloudy where they live.
Sound can be seen now. It looks ragged and sharp with stinging metal tips. I can hear it too. This is new for me. First I thought I was dying again but it seems all this is normal even though there’s not much to hear at this depth. Once in a while I hear an angry voice. But mostly, words are unsaid and they come from lipless ghosts that dwell nowhere. They stand shivering besides their graves draped in white veils that blow in the wind. They found their death at the bottom of the pool and await resurrection...
just as I do now.
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