A Slip and a Lie...a Pool Poem

        Although I hardly ever post poetry, I am today, and for several reasons.One, I got sucked in by a hilarious comment Brian Miller made on Fireblossom's blog, which made me want to a check out his blog. He has a poetry blog, was featuring poems about pools---any kind of pools--and I thought...why not?

      Secondly (and finally), this poem came about in an interesting fashion. I was trying to write a prose piece about when I fell off the side of the high diving board and broke my arm (a true story). The memoir (written in indented paragraphs) just would not work.

      So, I switched the genre, and it flowed out...

      Let this be a lesson, if it's one you have yet to learn: if at first you don't succeed, after you've tried and tried and tried again...try another genre!

      (And if you're still awake, here's the poem:)

photo by shanleigh 1973

A Slip and a Lie

slipping

defying the sandpaper grip
like a thread through a needle
I slipped
slid under the handrails
fell off
the high dive
half on the concrete
(my arm, stranded)
the other half in water
submerged

rising to the surface
one arm useless, damaged
two eyes searching, afraid

looking for someone who
was
not
there

(the lifeguard’s chair was empty)

all along the edges
stood skinny swimmers
layers of water slid off their browned bodies
their knees knocking together
in the cool summer breeze
and their tongues loose at both ends

my swan dive
(done for them)
ended up breaking a wing
suddenly he appeared…
a savior in a Speedo
lifted me up
rescued me

(the absent lifeguard—
never really absent—
had dived off his tower
cutting through the water
the instant
I slipped off the side of the board)

my head down
and refusing to take a bow
I left
left the diving tank
my feet propelled me away from the catastrophe
my arm dangled useless at my side

as I walked toward the exit
I spotted a few kids
(strangers to me)
who missed my fall
the graceless fall
my loss of face

huddled together
shards of frozen Milky Ways
formed brown trails down their chins
as the chocolate melted in their mouths
I slid into their circle
and became one of them
…just for an instant

I cloaked myself under the pretense of a spectator
instead of what I truly was
just a few moments ago—
the featured performer

“did you see what some girl did
in the diving tank” I asked
and left
wrapped up in my beach towel
and my lie

Don't Dip...Dive!

       When I was a kid, I never dipped my toes--timidly and demurely--in the water at the swimming pool. (I must admit, my demeanor ain't never even shook hands with demure.) Never worried about the temperature of the water, I'd always boldly dive right in. Even if the water was a bit cold, that initial blast of cool water was refreshing...

       Often when women surrender to swimsuits that have skirts (personally, I'm on the hunt for one that's formal-length, with a long Princess-Diana-style train), they take less risks. They might wade in the water. They might dangle their legs in the pool as they sit on the edge. But dive right in? Not always...

photo by pjhphotos

       Usually, when I have trouble beginning a piece of writing, it's because I am dangling. And I've developed a habit of dangling for 2-3 days before diving right in.

       When I slice right through the surface, sometimes it's a bit of a shock. I get blasted by a beginning that's not quite ripe. However, I come up for air, and start flailing around as best I can, heading to the other side.

       Just like my swimming is smoother after I get into the groove, so is my writing. And later, I get the chance to clean up the messy bellyflop-of-a-beginning.

       Fellow writers: dive in! I dangled on Monday night and last night. Tonight I need to jump right in...

(Sorry, Hope. There are no evil beavers in this one, but it was the best analogy I could pull off this morning...)