My Daughter Turns into a Fish
We swim the lengths in harmonious turquoise strokes,
as if to smooth out the years
we’ve not done this together, or since my daughter
has touched water, now that she no longer
competes in galas. No thought of overtaking
or racing, we don’t bother to count laps
or create waves but glide with ease as we chat
side by side, like other women.
I want to keep things slow
because they matter. I want to hear every word
my daughter has to utter and for us to stretch this day
until we can stretch it no farther, a privilege
to have this time together. When we feel ready
we will enter the steam room, sauna, Jacuzzi,
and eventually the woman at the desk will beckon us
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