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