open your eyes
my brother said to me as we
held hands, leapt off the raft, and I did.
The blackness was so black, each ray
of light seemed separate,
so far away. It all smelled
even more like lake, the corners
of thick planks held a twisted steel cable,
thick streamers of duckweed algae,
and the broken, muted staccato tapping
of waves as the raft ducked and bobbed,
the rocking surface all so murky and slow,
then my feet kicked, I pushed up into
the bright of day, searching for his
face, and it was beside me, closer
than I’d imagined. I never did that again,
opened my eyes under the raft,
but not long afterwards a boy dove in
and never surfaced, his friends
calling and diving, my dad racing
off the shore to help, and I knew what
that boy saw, the slats of the raft,
that thick, rusted cable, tangles of weeds,
the distance between darkness and light.
Editor’s Note: The ethereal imagery of this poem’s narrative creates a profound moment of understanding about what is precious, and how we learn such things.
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