NewPoetry

Eric Schmaltz

‘My weight is my love; I am borne by it
wherever I am borne’
– St. Augustine

my lungs brimmed
in my first memory,

chlorinated & sodden I sunk
to the bottom of the pool.

it was no other occasion
than friendship’s cusp,

a longing to be accepted
at three, maybe four,

by him, his grandfather,
maybe his mother, the early blue

below, the sky, the clouds,
cirrus, maybe cumulus,

& the concrete’s scrape
on my callow knees.

we pulled the cushions, piled
in the living room, maybe the kitchen,

& laid them by the poolside.
I remember the sun but no heat, maybe.

I didn’t confess
that I could not

swim. I stepped toward
the pool’s limit

it welcomed me in
my purity, weighted

by my longing, by
virtue of my lie