The Pool

I hadn't planned on swimming.

My friend said, "Let's go,"

and I was angry enough

to say yes.

The water was cold.

The shock of it—

my body remembering

what it meant to be used,

to be a thing with limbs

that could move through space

instead of just occupying it.

Third lap.

My arms were burning.

The burn was good.

The burn was proof.

I pushed off the wall

and my shoulders answered,

my legs answered,

my breath answered.

For the first time in months

I wasn't thinking about

what I should be doing.

I was just doing it.

The chlorine smell,

the kick and pull,

the cold tile under my feet

when I finally stopped—

it all felt like coming home

to a place I'd forgotten

I still owned.

That night I was tired

in a way that meant something.

The kind of tired that comes

from choosing to use your own body

for something it wanted.

I fell asleep without checking

my phone.