Not Drowning

The swimmer was drawn to the shoreline

 

Because being a wanderer was in her soul

 

And the lapping sound against the sands

 

Metered in her mind like a poetic line

 

That reached in deep - like surgeon’s hands

 

Ripping out her heart to make a hole;

 

As a mark of the place she must avoid

 

For within her doubts she could be destroyed

 

As she swam out further and further out to the sea

 

To find the depths that would be the last thing she would see.

 

 

 

They gathered and said, “It was swimming – not drowning.”

And of course, she had always known it would be a crowning.