Initiation
I’d just learned to swim
when he taught me
to float face down
in the pool. The idea
was to hold my breath
and relax, limb to limb,
until someone, ideally
my mother, looked
up from their weight
loss magazine
in horror. Four or five,
I studied him
first, grinned
until his body
looked like a leaf
minding its own
finished business.
At the time, I didn’t
know he wanted
to die. The allure
of the ocean not
what it spit back out
but what it kept.
He was so proud
when I did
as I was told,
coming up
for air only after
my mother felt
like she’d slipped
down a flight
of stairs, and he stood
in the oversized
t-shirt he wore
to hide his stomach,
beaming like we
finally had something
in common.