Before the board may hold my weight,

Before it crashes down toward the water

And hurls me to the sky, I am pulled

To its edge–

Pulled by the chatter and excitement

That swaddles memories of the Summer;

Pulled by the wait, and the tension in

My chest from waiting some more;

Pulled by fear I haven’t felt since.

That I’ll soar high and land on my back;

That someone will see my awkward descent;

That it hasn’t been 30 minutes

But we’d be leaving soon; that something

Could happen I’d never thought of since.

Behind me and on the pool deck:

Strangers—mostly, that girl

That I loved, and the boy

From school, and the one

I met today, and haven’t seen since.

Their faces seem warped

From the heat of that July day;

From the lens of remembering.

Warped like the board

Who dipped slightly beneath me;

Whose fibers groaned quietly

From the memory of summers

Past, and the thought of even one more august.

Beneath my weight and the board

Stood a brilliant blue mosaic

Warped, too, by ripples and

Dancing sunbeams.

Geometry that, today,

Nestles me in the fur of the past.

A past where I lived, but now

Only visit; where I ran and laughed

And loved, but now only visit;

A past where, when I visit,

I see only the pool—the art

That was beneath it.