by Rowann

Created on: February 28, 2007   Last Updated: May 14, 2007

Underwater

Bubbles
Drifting under my fingernails.
White sketchpad,
Plastic and slippery
Keeps trying to drift from me.
Rotting wooden pencil,
As shiveringly I trace lace plant forms.
Seaweed, I said,
And she laughed.
That's what kids call them, Sue.
I never said I was a grown-up.

Water celery, mille-foil, lilies
Deep water, and sandy shallowing bottom.
The fish gather and gaze at me,

As I float,
The in-out breath now the alien sound,
And I am no longer trespasser to their realm.
A distant rumble passes and a boat's wake
Catches the uncertain aquatic artist,
Floats her violently up and down.
Holding my breath against the thought
Of water-clogged lungs,
And an Obit. of "drowned."

I burst air up through the snorkel hose
In sputtering WHOOSH! And suck clean
Rideau Lake air into my sickening chest.
Only 7 months of no nicotine lining the alveolus
And still the pain sits there,
A heavy leaden fist pressing my bone,
Saying NO, you're not a pink-lunged kid,
You're gray and macaroni-slimy.

But swimming fish-like, not thrashing,
I forget that those arms and legs are human
They swirl though these chlorophyll forests,
Waving back at me.
Bass fry curiously circle,
Sunfish puff in self-righteous pride
And rock bass coldly survey.
I draw and draw,
Trying to get each line perfect and right,
But finally let go of that "A-student" pencil.

Wavy lines on the plastic pad, reflect the plants
More closely than a photograph.

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