Under

My daughter surfaced gasping.

I went under instead,

the cold water closing like a fact,

and I was trapped

in that second before the lifeguard would move.

She coughed it off, fine, alive.

I couldn't drive.

My hands shook on the steering wheel

and I couldn't tell the real

from the metaphor anymore.

At night I wake up drowning

in the dark, my lungs still burning,

still convinced they've forgotten how.

I don't know how

to tell my body what was real.