Swim Show

     We're seated in the bleachers just above
     the pool.  My son works on his crawl.
     He's mastering the element I love.

     The coach blows the whistle and another
     boy dives in. My son reaches the wall,
     does a flip turn.  From above

     I imagine the silky cover
     of water on his skin, the slick haul
     of the body through an element elastic as love

     at its best.  Hard not to think of
     womb, fluid, cave, deep pull
     from my body.  Again I'm above

     looking down as he moves
     toward air.  The water behind him healed
     from the sharp kick of mastery.  I love

     his new muscled body though it shoves
     us apart.  Now he waves, calls,
     mugs for his family above,
     as he towels off the body I want him to love.


     Kathleen Aguero
 	
     

     *         *          *
       

     about the poem:

     "My son shares my love of swimming.  The poem came after years of 
     watching him in swim practice and swim meets.  The repetitious
     pattern of the villanelle somehow reminded me of the back and forth of
     swimming laps."



     Home | Contents | Contributors |  Guidelines |  Archive |
                        Staff | Writers Forum |  Links |