Swimming Pool 2020
By Annik Babinski
After “Eclipse” by Rose Marie Cromwell
When my baby was born
she was laid on my belly.
Her cord was too short to bring her higher.
She lifted her head
and looked around.
When they could
my placenta was brought up to me and
placed in the crook of my arm.
Then my baby came up to my breast.
Still slow and watery
she watched us
name her call her ours
stitch me up cut our cord
when it went white.
She never cried.
When I bring her in the water now
she watches silently
as we take on
a familiar weightlessness.
My hair floats out around us.
I hold her in my shadow.
I am her moon.
She watches the empty deck.
The pool vacuum circles us like a planet.
She holds her hand out
and pets the hose as it passes.
Copyright © by the owner.
