Drowning is not like in the movies--
not like the perfect life of a screen starlet cut short
in a flurry of splashing
and screaming
as the audience follows
under the surface to watch
her suddenly serene face recede
into darkness before following
the last bubbles of spent breath
up to safety
in the open air.
Drowning is the quiet, desperate,
and often unnoticed bobbing
of lips and nostrils at the water line
and the futile reach of hands for the invisible rungs
of a ladder to safety
that never comes.
Why should anyone find this surprising?
Do we ourselves not
often drown silently
in the loneliness of our own desperation,
never able to draw enough breath
to form words sufficient
to beg someone,
anyone:
Toss out a bouy,
reach out a hand,
for just a little while,
share your breath with me.
