Some Things Can’t Be Shared

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SOME THINGS CAN’T BE SHARED


I’d like to hold my breath 

for long enough that my chest

feels like yours must feel 


today, at the bottom of a pool 

an invisible hand pushed you in. 

We’re never taught to swim 


in some waters, or instructed how

to watch somebody drown 

in the clutch of something


impossible to ever get a grip on.

To go home and lie face-down 

in the bathtub doesn’t seem 


an appropriate response here.

Oddly, neither does calling for

the lifeguard, and definitely not writing


a poem while your lungs fill, reaching

for what’s more tangible than metaphor,   

like the firm hand of a lifeguard.


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