Ten Feet

I pushed off the wall and let the air go,

sinking until the world was just blue.

The yelling from the bleachers faded away

into a hum that felt heavy and true.

Down at the drain, where the pressure is thick,

a rubber goggle strap caught in the grate.

It waved like a weed in the chemical wash,

a piece of someone left behind by the weight.

I stared at the tiles, those turquoise squares,

and listened to my heart thudding loud in my head.

It’s a different kind of gravity down on the floor,

where nobody hears what you should have just said.