I Swam in the Big Blue

Down the beach, I see our neighbor swimming
His gray head bobbing in the gentle waves
While he talks to his wife on the beach
She is collecting rocks, looking for agates, studying

Then they switch, he comes on shore and she wades in
I watch her in her flowered swimsuit, wondering why
my swimsuits are always black, as if
swimming is a solemn effort, not something to be celebrated

I am up to my knees in the Lake Superior water
The rocks, so many rocks, every rock of the ages
Wading is hard, I wonder how my old neighbors manage
It could be the flowered swimsuit that gives them purchase, rights

I wade deeper, the water now at my waist, the pockets
Of my shorts fill with water, cold and clear, no fish
And then the bottom of my t-shirt, the water creeps up
Until I fall back, immersed like the neighbors, swimming

Then she of the flowered swimsuit emerges and
I want to yell Thank You for swimming, for being
Old in your flowered swimsuit, stepping over the rocks
As if they were pillows left on the living room floor

I turn away and swim toward the sun, birds
Weave as if in a movie, an ad about swimming
My left leg aches, the icy water like a balm, prescribed
I float in my clothes like a child free from thinking

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Originally published in 2022 but so right for this hot day