When We Swam Together, by Adrienne Asher

Posted on October 16, 2019

No oyster knives lie on my table, prying open what was closed; no sea salt,

to be rubbed in wounds. Far from the sea, I strain to hear the cries of gulls.

Once, we inhabited the sound of waves. Our minds held bowls of pearls,

iridescent, overflowing. We spoke in parables of water, let the years’ tides

sway us closer, then apart, and when our oceans overflowed, we never

swam to shore. Will our heavy bodies float, or will you learn to swim

your skeleton through coral reefs? The water’s

weather moves from calm to storm,

tell me–do you also face unruly seasons, currents

pulling you into a drowning sea?

You may try swimming to me from the past, but I will be distracted,

sitting by an open window, thinking of what cannot be believed.

*The 64, best poets of 2018*

The Black Mountain Press