In Camera

 

In Camera

 

There is usually a queue,

So you take a number, and wait,

Pass the time of day -

There’s always something to say -

Talk about the weather; stew;

Count the cost, and hesitate ...

 

The line shuffles forward,

Though one appears no nearer.

Some try to push in front;

A few wonder, What’s the point?

Others linger over every word,

Yet the meaning is no clearer.

 

And when your time arrives,

Everything seems to fall away,

As if the you as a notion

Has always been in question;

And what of you survives

Will barely have a say.

Learning to swim

M and Me Swimming

Learning to Swim

 

I take you into the shallows,

back into the loose

embrace

of water,

and

release you;

 

Year after year.

 

Time is the treading of water,

the dancing of limbs:

that sculling of hands,

that scissoring of feet

to the rhythm of trust and faith

(a mimicry of drowning,

of prayer);

a simple belief in buoyancy

that keeps you afloat,

and waiting for the right wave

to carry you forward,

and just

out of

reach.

 

But the water always gets deeper

as you get further from the shore,

and the gap never closes

on the distant horizon

(about three miles of eternity -

enough to last a lifetime).

 

Still, you step into the water’s mouth

and allow it to swallow you whole.

And I release you

(Or is it that you struggle free,

welcoming the current?)

and you drift away;

 

then with strong,

clean

strokes

you begin to swim.

 

Your feet will never touch bottom again.

Click here to read about the artist Michael Andrews and his picture 'Melanie and Me Swimming'

Click here to read about Graham Swift's story collection "Learning to Swim".