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SWIMMING LESSONS
Dragonfly
A mystical dive with a divine creature at the deep end of the pool
Flutter-kicking at the pool’s deep end,
working to strengthen my core while admiring
the transfigured gorgeousness, the raw yet restrained power
of my lane partner’s butterfly stroke,
the crisp instinctive slice of his flip turn
when I see
he is not the only one so perfectly skimming aquatic light waves
A dragonfly — no respecter of lane lines
But why should she be?
She is what she is
Hovering before me like a helicopter
Flaunting her hummingbird ability to backstroke
Clocking 45 mph
after she takes a last sip then darts past
my circle-swim partner into the oaks
Her wings, equally as mighty
They need flap only 30 times a minute
whereas
mosquitos require 600
houseflies, 1000
bees, 11,400
Oh, be-winged acorn of wonder!
Oh, rarity and revelation!
I am stung
Itching
Inspired
Instruct me in the fiery arts of iridescence
Dampen my multi-hued inhibitions
Plunge me into the present’s deep blue, crystalline palette –
my goggles exhorted to fog the past and future
Carry me with you as I carry you
and — in this ephemeral, too brief time — we perfect my stroke
©Jenine Bsharah Baines 2024
The moment the dragonfly joined me, I knew she was a divine prompt. What I didn’t see coming was a second prompt.
Two days into the dragonfly-writing process, a bee stung me while I was swimming!
Yikes, it hurt…and, OMG, the swelling and itching! I’ve just finished a prescription for Prednisone today. My fingertip is still purple.
I did a bit of woo-woo research, and one of the things I learned is that this godawful bee sting may mean my guardian angel was trying to get my attention.
A spiritual awakening is overdue.
It may have arrived during a nap today. Stay tuned.
Meanwhile, thank you, Thomas Gaudex, for the home within the deep poetry pool otherwise known as Scribe. Thank you, dearest readers and fellow swimmers in the Light. How I love your stroke.
Jenine Jeni, Jen, J
Call me what you will, what feels right. Everyone else does.
Proper names are poetry in the raw. W.H. Auden
