Hypothermic suicide,
Induced through sitting
In an ice-fringed lake at dawn
Was not the best strategy
For an avid lake swimmer
With a walrus-like figure.
Sunk to my shoulders
Wedged among aspen branches
Fallen in the lake,
So as not to drown
Accidentally
Once securely comatose,
I waited for the promised
Symptoms in sequence,
Shivering, of course,
More and more rapid heart rate,
Failing coordination,
Mental confusion--
And then the good ones--
Apathy, low blood pressure,
Inability to walk,
Followed by coma,
Sometimes preceded
By the weirder traits,
"Paradoxical
Undressing" and "terminal"
Burrowing." But no,
Not for me the chilly death.
My feet ached underwater
Like baby seals being clubbed,
But never went numb.
I never stopped shivering.
My torso shuddered
Uncontrollably
In the grip of the water.
Who knows what damage
I did my vital organs?
I breathed the cold air deeply,
Deeply as I could,
But my heart only thundered
And my one moment
Of confusion occurred when
The moon I had been tracking
As it set in the bare tress
Went missing. Maybe
I could also count
As a derangement
The moment when I let go
Of the wet branches,
Reached for my crutches
Underwater in the silt,
And staggered, up to my neck
Now in the painful water,
Avoiding the shore
Because I knew I would fall
If I walked across those stones.
I labored through muck,
Disturbing a strange creature
That propelled itself
On fin-like legs, leg-like fins,
Or did I imagine it?
Reaching where I'd parked the car
On frozen clays, I hauled out
In immense concentration,
Like a drunkard determined
Not to fall over,
And got to the car,
Shaking and woozy
And reeking with grey pond mud.
When I started the heater
The car informed me
That although the sun was high,
The outside air temperature
Still hovered around freezing
And the car clock read
Two and a half hours later
Than it had when I stepped out
And waded deliberately
Into the water to die.
The sun, then an orange smudge
On the southeast horizon
Was now well above the trees.
I shook another two hours.
It was one whole hour before
I could get out of my clothes
And a half hour to struggle
Into dry clothes from my pack.
Everything hurt the whole day,
But without meaning
To do any such thing, I
Had somehow survived
An entire morning
From dawn to nearly lunch hour
Soaking in wet cold enough
The survival manual
Gave favorable odds
For death in under an hour.
Now what to do with myself?
A wreck with another day
To get through, a cold ruin
With neither needle nor noose
Nor gun. Why I am around
After what I've done?
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