On the first swim, the chop was up
And a wave would occasionally surprise
With a snootful of lake to be snorted out.
The up and down was strong enough, close
In to the shore, that sometimes a blurry rock
That seemed well below reach would rush
Up and threaten to skin a kneecap, then sink
Back into the deep. On return the little strip
Of the stony bay that passed for beachfront
Had filled with various old, familiar or newly
Familiar folks, some with small children, who
Exchanged greetings and asked how was
The water? The second swim was quieter,
Longer, around the downed cottonwood,
Past the kayak haul-out, the shady cabin
That had once been a graffitied shack, now
Restored, the handful of people sunning
Like plump seals on the basking rocks below
The decaying mansion, up to the boathouse
At Bigelow, then back. The landmarks below
Were the bouldered edge of the underwater
Cliff into the depths, a few long disused sets
Of rails for taking silver ore down to boats
A hundred or more years ago, ghost trees
Whose timbers would scare daughter to see
Beneath her when she swam deep. Two
Friends left on the beach at this return, one
With whom to discuss research as the sun
Sank into the high haze of wildfires blowing
Smoke from the Okanagan. A last swim,
Shorter but straight out into the middle
Of the waves, with a turn to survey village
Homes along the bluff above the shore.
One woman still left, tethered to a long, long
Oxygen tube leading away from her nose
To a portable generator hooked up
To an even longer, orange extension cord
Draped over a branch of the fairydoor maple
Hanging over the stones. She coiled
Her tube like a lasso over one arm and joked
As discussion turned to mobility for invalids
Out of doors. Then, once she’d gone, her tank
With her, the unplugged orange cord still dangling
In the heavily green-leaved branches, no one
But the swimmer out of water, alone on the shore.
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