When I was little my Mum called the bumps in the road sleeping policemen.
Early one morning I went out frantic with a spade,
Tried to crack the cement where I thought they were buried.
My spade couldn’t slice through the concrete,
And I imagined them struggling to breathe under the ground.
I spent hours crying because I knew what it felt like to be trapped as well.
Every week my Dad took me swimming and I let my body float.
It was the place I could be a paradox:
By that I mean Holding my breath was the way that I knew how to be alive,
By that I mean That I was a graph looking for my coordinates
By that I mean I was a sky looking for my constellations I was just a person.
I was looking for you
The only way for the ache to stop
Was when my lungs turned static in the blue.
Now I am older,
my body sings when it is submerged
I am underwater:
Being with you is like;
Diving underwater and the Blue is impossible and the blue it surrounds me:
And the chlorine burns my eyes- And bleaches me clean.
