High dive. Bent figure standing over the water.
Slight motion. Don’t look down at the water.

Concrete seeped in laughter and chlorine,
Mold, and old sunscreen left by the water.

Where do sharks hide? Like cops under cover?
Under their folklore? Down deep, under the water?

I’ve dreamed of falling, but never of flying.
Would you catch me, regardless? Would you be the water?

Time beats.
It’s waiting, the cold embrace of the water.

We played mermaids at sea in the backyard that summer.
And after, eyes burning, I shivered Iooking back at the water.


Karla Sutton