Dive In

Swimming through fragments of memory

Photo by Sime Basioli on Unsplash

Held underwater
stuck in a storm of memories,
the curse of a 33 year old brain.

The fresh water,
the tree line,
got me thinking of how much you tried.

Canoe ride,
lost on the side of a mountain,
take me one more time.

Slide onto the back of your Triumph,
—the one you don’t have now,
wind set me straight
vibrations settle in my core,
brand my calf with the exhaust pipe.

The freedom you sold for a dream
of something we were meant to be doing,
then I set it in motion for us to dissolve,
and all my undoing consumed you truly.

Sand dried on my skin,
the sweat that stains,
hike through warm pouring rain—

you find me somehow
where I couldn’t jump down,
no more hesitating,
I promise I’ll do it now—

without getting hurt,
or making you wait
loose muscles and new plans

to fuck it all up,
watch something burn,
stir up serenity,
a lifetime of stiffness to unlearn.

Find me,
knees in dirt,
a bed of picked ferns—

funny how easy we called it home.

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The part of me that messed up
faded into who you hoped I’d be,
connected to the passion of living things—

how I would do anything.

Do you still linger on all I destroyed in you?
Do you wish we never met?

I reach out towards you
and the air is thick where I grasp,
but your electricity fails to meet me,
call it closure like sunset
fading fast.

When I believed a wire ran from
my soul to yours alone,
it meant that I couldn’t escape you
even if I wished to,
desperately needed to
our union fossilized in limestone.

It is in the water,
where we were created
where we met without
needing understanding.

I’m spiraling in the sand,
you hold my shoulder,
squeeze my hand.

The waves rushing like
they’ve got to conquer me—
in my palm I grip soft stones,

focus

throw—

each throw to anchor me,
bring me back on land.

You knew,
been here before,
you’d always pull me up
out of there—

save me from anywhere.

In my dreams,
I meet you like any old day,
tires crawl into the driveway,
just getting home.

Your hatred almost feels like hope.

You pick me up
and spin,
you’re still in the middle of it,
right where
I fastened an ending to your grin.

I consider the bait,
impulse coated fishing line,
a lifetime of survival.

You watch my step
hold my breath—

where to begin?

I dive in.

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