I don’t want to be two people anymore.

Each always afraid of the other.

I don’t want a dichotomy of existence

between sink and swim.

I want to be my own meeting place.

Perhaps I’ll be a bridge.

One I haven’t managed

yet to burn.

Don’t make me the golden gate,

washing any more

of those beautiful feet

before their quick descent

and resurrection.

We don’t quite know

how to walk on water.

I know now that after the jump,

each collision creates a wave.

Oceans aren’t the only bodies

that ripple.

I know how each dive,

each surge,

has collateral damage.

We are all so easily pulled

by the undertow.

I wish I could go back

to say

I am angry

and thank you for that.

I wish go back

to tie a knot at the end

of a different rope.

I wish I could extend

a raft, a buoy, a hand.

I wish I could know

how you did it

or at least

how I never even saw

that last surge of water

coming and leaving.

I wonder how it feels

to stop treading water

and filling our lungs

in hopes we can

just stay afloat.

How does it feel to surrender

to our own unexpected tsunami?

I’m not sure if I knew

I could swim

before now.

I’m not sure if I knew

I could get out on shore.

I’m not sure if I knew

this pain is a pit-stop

not an exit.

With whatever echo

my voice carries underwater

I am so angry…

for all I know now

and

for all

I failed to know

before.