Tuesday, May 14, 2013

The Jump

As a kid, nothing was more exciting
on a sunbaked afternoon
than a jump off the diving board
at the neighborhood pool--not a dive,
I didn't how to dive--but a good jump,
Like a jump from a tree into a river,
A clumsy jump that  began with a rapid waddle
to the end of the board and then a gangly leap into the air,
one hand plugging my nose,
suspended for an instant like a dolphin,
quickly gulping a mouthful of breath, holding it,
and then a long, slow plunge,
my burned body finally
breaking the cold water,
the delightful shock of submersion,
sinking lower and lower,
losing my weight, my direction,
my hearing, all my heat,
my burning eyes wide open,
the taste of chlorine,
the breath bursting from my lungs,
And then a gentle moon landing,
my butt touching the bottom,
And then bouncing up and down
against the concrete, and then
pushing my butt against that hard floor
to catapult me back up toward the white sky,
my long brown hair floating like seaweed,
hair slipping into my mouth,
my fierce splashing upward,
and just before my face breaks
through the water,
the warm pee between my thighs,
without blushing because no one knows,
no one will ever know.