The anticipation of entering the pool is always the worst.
Jumping into the abyss of fridged water
I feel its sting slapping my skin,
sounds of bubbles rushing past my ears before my feet
settle feather-like to the bottom of the pool.
Like the astronaut I am weightless,
blind, and deaf to the entire world;
here is my silent sanctuary
where I can’t see their faces, their fervent glances, or judging stares.
It’s just me striking the water, pushing and pulling to propel myself forward.
As I rise to the surface at the end of a set,
I relax against the lane line bobbing gently up and down
I sing to myself, “It started out as feeling”.
I’ve been stuck in a writing rut. So I edited this poem as practice instead of practicing for my jury examination in a week on the clarinet. Needless to say, I am screwed. Oh well. Enjoy!