uncharted waters

I lay on the water and just
breathe
gently at first, then deeper and deeper,
feeling myself rise and fall
like a balloon in the breeze,
a girl caught on a unnatural tide.

I couldn't swim before, blaming
my teacher, my father, the planetary alignment
for being out of breath,
and underwater.
Now, you make me want to learn,
to float and be with you.

My strokes are clumsy, I breathe more
chlorine than oxygen,
but I'm moving. You are so far
ahead of me, but you wait, and I catch you up.
You are moulded to the water,
more fish than boy.

My arms are weak but I don't stop.
Where I once resented the water for holding me,
your kind words, and your
gentle insistence have worn down
my resistance. I do not glide, but I move,
I turn onto my back and continue.

The water is in my throat, my lungs, my ears.
My kicks are small and my arms move lazily.
I can see the sky, shining through the windows
of the pool roof. I wait for the cold bump
of stone, that means I have reached the end,
that I have finally made good.

That night you hold me,
lust replaced by love in the heat.
I run my fingers down your spine, and
your hair smells like chlorine.
Now I can follow you anywhere you go,
land or sea or sky.