Float, Balance, Breathe
1.
Lean on your lungs.
Tuck your chin and swim downhill.
Instructions run through my head:
Float, balance, breathe.
Gasp, reach, pull.
Float, balance, breathe.
One lap. Another. Slow but steady.
Arms thread water, slipping in, pulling back.
My body quiet.
Turn head, open mouth, inhale, inhale, inhale.
I slow everything down because breathing
is the challenge. In water, on land.
But isn’t that the burden for us all?
One more lap. One more day.
Repeat, repeat, repeat.
2.
On the walk home, hair wet, a storm kicks in.
Dark sky. Wind swirls. A few drops turns
to gushing rain in a frenzy of bent limbs.
Everything is clinging to something,
a grasp for something solid. What happens
in the space between gusts, in the gasp
for breath and refuge?
3.
We've been told to hold close
to love, to beauty, to every small thing
because this will sustain us through difficult days.
I do not ignore the burning world but I am fearful
as the flames of my indignation grow.
How futile I feel.
4.
As I reach home
I see the dying honeysuckle vine
has sprouted four green leaves in
these first tender days of spring.
It may survive.
My appreciation for this thatch of brittle sticks
is stretched. As so much ugly takes hold
how will this small hope grow?
— Drew Myron
It’s National Poetry Month and life is a poem.
What are you writing, reading, painting, making?
Please share with me: dcm@drewmyron.com