Tucked in my mind’s back pocket
is that evening when I ran full speed
off the end of the pier
and leapt fully dressed into the water.
The air in my clothes buoyed me for a moment
before swirling around me like a purple bloom—
and the heavy sun was orange and low,
and the water held me, refreshed me,
stole my breath for a moment,
then gave me back the gift of my breath,
only deeper, fuller, a bloom in my body.
Oh the freedom—how easy it felt to be alive,
to be afloat, to be enwombed by the world.
Everything felt right. Everything felt yes.
Sometimes, like now, when worry polishes my thoughts,
I dip a toe into that pocket and feel the splash on my skin,
hear the water lapping against the buoys, the pier.
Sometimes, like now, I jump in and swim there
long enough that when I return to this chair, this room,
I find the faint lake scent lingering in my hair,
my face still wet.