Still

Floating in a tank of warm thermal springs

at the  community center in West Virginia,

the ceiling and accompanying walls were

standard issue park district construction.

The steps leading to the water was like

any public pool in any small town across

America where children play in summer.

The only sense that this was a pay by the hour

was the silver pitcher of water collecting

condensation near the edge next to the stairs.

I felt strange being naked in this public place.

My clothes left behind in a women's

changing room in a basket behind a lock.

At first, I swam back and forth across-

I had a few good strokes before I had to turn,

but I tired of the movement and of the echo

the splash of the water made as arms stroked.

So I turned on my back, chest to the air

and floated. My hair fanned out like a crown,

I closed my eyes and I listened to the

drip of the faucet that had filled the tank.

In this dead man’s pose, I was still.

If my body were not so buoyant, I

could have slipped to the bottom and

the natural fizz of the water would

have seemed like I was still breathing.