Ia Literary Journal
Swim. by Maisie Chilton
First there was the womb, and
then the exile.
life welcomed me into its
arms of blackwater
demanded I swim.
The cold took my breath away.
Mother.
Mother, catch me.
Mother,
stretch out those olive
arms, hold
my hand, mother.
Pull me in ward
kick, kick,
Straighten your legs. kick,
harder.
Father teaches me to survive.
Blink, blink
tilt the head
back
mother sees blackwater filling
eyes.
You learn to know it’s
working when you
taste the bitterness
in the back of your throat.
You,
the expert in blinking things back.
Move those arms now, darling.
Open up that hand, and
swim.
Move your body for us,
sweetheart.
Show us how you tilt,
bend.
Show us how you’ll walk,
now
bend over, let me
see that spine.
Doctor
doctor, tell me I’m a good girl
now,
run your fingers up my
puzzled bones tell me
my foundations are
right
enough.
straight
enough,
able
enough
to support myself?
show us how
you’ll float,
dearest.
make it look easy now,
the key is to relax.
Didn’t you know?
Smile now.
Your smile’s so
beautiful,
little one.
Give us a show.
now
The sun moves behind
the houses
turning slowly
dark as the light
gains.
peach tree shows where
they cut her
bone flesh, and
I am tired.
tired
of self,
soothing
self
medicating
self
induced coma
me,
the doctor.
Now
Stop.
Stop until the blackwater pools
round your eyes
you were still cold, just
numb.
I am here I am here I am
here I am
nowhere to be found.