We Write in Water

poem

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All the Indians swam in Benjamin Lake
when they wanted to swim. It was a wild
community pool. Dragonflies & cattails

were the lifeguards. But nobody swims
there anymore. Green algae has claimed
the lake. You might believe that Indians

have a special relationship with nature
but it rebuffs us, too. I didn't know how
to swim when I was a kid. I was afraid

of water. I'd inherited my mother's
hydrophobia. She & I would sit
on the dock as all the other Indians

swam in endless patterns. I was
part of the tribe & not part
of the tribe. I learned how to swim

just a few years ago at the YWCA
during a class for adults. Four
of my classmates told stories

about how they almost drowned
during their childhoods. One man
did drown but they brought him

back to life. My classmates were
courageous in the water. I suppose
I was courageous, too, but I don't get

to define that. Or maybe I do.
My therapist ordered me
to take swimming lessons

because drowning has long been
part of my suicidal ideation.
So, now, I can stay afloat long

enough to change my mind
about dying. And I'm damn sure
that I would change my mind

about dying. I'm going to die
of natural causes, you see,
because dying of natural causes

is an enormous victory for all
the Indian boys and girls like you
& you & you & you & you & me.