Ava O’Malley
Up early enough to remember autumn,
a mere threat just six weeks away,
we pounded down onto the gravel,
too cold beneath stiff towels to slow into a stroll.
We dove off the metal docks without thought,
our feet slipping off the swaying metal.
and disappeared into the lake like a chorus of raindrops
swallowed by waves, digested into our own spray.
It was too soon to be cognizant of our bodies,
pre-teen in faded one-pieces.
It did not matter what we looked like the dawn
of our corporeal conscientiousness.
Instead, we only knew what it felt like to be
freezing, kicking, restless;
Minnows shortly before the thaw.
Our hair quickly crisped when we emerged to gasp,
hands splashed the slate gray surface as a school
of sunburnt scalps greeted the flesh-pink sky.
We feared only the absence of one another
and perhaps the graze of a water snake that did not exist.
The sun broke like an egg as we squinted through damp lashes,
Desperately treading and drugged with adrenaline.
All loose braids and peeling skin and soggy friendship bracelets,
A voice called upon us,
“Who wants to jump again?”