Rutland Pool

I spend hours on my back here, staringat the wooden ceiling ribs as I slidethrough water rich as amylase.Last year, my ankles turned Judas and I lostthe ability to run. Some days I cyclethrough plum-thick sweat. Other days I skitterice puddles, unlit bike paths at 6:00 a.m.I always arrive harriedand barefoot. The changeroom tileshave the inner warmth of a sternum.Sometimes the chlorine seepsinto my goggles and licks me blind.I travel through egg-white haze, the lanemarkers blurred as veins, the wall clockno more than concept.Other times I swim egg-beaterin the deeper water, back and forthwith my hands in the air. I needthis pool to buoy me, salveme, palpate and digest me. Pleasedissolve this tick and tragedycarapace, my nerves. Prune me,humble me, soften my fingernailsto wax paper, my hairto brittled down.