Many times, they swim in still waters. Bodies enter in the daylight, liquid sheeting over skin as they submerge, easing in. That feeling, so different from buffeting, bolstering waves at the seaside—their weight sinks. Mud sucks at their feet. There is no resistance, but also no support; the saltless water doesn’t hold them. An unease. She doesn’t stay in the water long; it is too strange, and there are also snakes. In the day, the waters are velvet fecundity. At night they are silken danger. It is heavy beauty. This place, the long vista. This place, the sudden deluge. This place, the brief evening, as the water sparkles towards darkness.
I walk backwards through memory to observe them. Youthful, foolhardy, brave, desirous, afraid. They joke together about alligators while drinking cheap beer. They swat at mosquitoes and yearn for their futures. She is not supported. She feels unease. It is heady beauty. The long vista. The sudden deluge. The brief evening. The water, sparkling towards darkness.
I stand at the edge of this revisitation, longing to feel a hand in my own.