Last Swim
I freestyle. Breathing west
the salmon sky goes
gray, lake surface reflecting
clouds of moldy lemon
peel. Just weeks ago, bottom
grasses reached toward fingers,
never touching. Now, autumn
thighs are brushed, a bare chest
tickled. Caught between lips,
teeth, a tangle of blades in goggle
straps. I can taste where I’m going.
My husband, pushing the season
in tight red shorts, waves
from the dock to let me know,
it’s past time to come in.
First Publication: Big Windows Review, 2018
