the pool at kutztown area high school

we're building a 
pool at kutztown area high school

on the second floor
with the staircase made
only of locker-casualties

there was a janitor's closet
we used to joke
led to tile floors
& chlorine

there's no pool at kutztown
area high school 

there's a lot
of us still floating there

on our back 
face up towards 
a flickering neon ceiling 

the construction was 
compulsive-- 
night after night 
we find ourselves
surrounded by
cement & tiles

digging a hole in
the roof to fill with
rain water

this pool isn't for gym class
this pool is in violation of
safety codes
this pool tastes like salt
packets & dew

floating with gym uniforms
like sea weed

it's a secret 

this pools is a 
drowned prayer 

where we'll send off
trigonometry notes 
& wilting copies of
canterbury tales 

like bodies on the river ganges

beneath the surface 
if you hold your breath 
you can hear the echo
of every one of us
who ever played with
pastels-- 

throw clay into the table
to get out the air bubbles

a mermaid voice
filtered through 
locker combinations 

the morning announcements 
fracture and ripple

i wake up many times
at the very bottom

laying on my back 
lungs hallways rushed 
with water

after this long though
you learn to hold your breath

you learn how long
you can go without air

we're champion divers

inhaling at the corner
of deisher lane & 
running to gulp air
at the last bell of
the day

i don't visit the school

but i do still work
on my breast-stroke

sometimes freestyle

arms like windmills

on days like this
it's only me

but the bottom 
of the pool is made of glass

& through it i watch 
students

books clutched to their
chests-- kissing boys
in hallways corners

kissing bathroom mirrors
& hoping to find a lake
written behind their own 
reflections 

i stare out the window
of 11th grade chemistry 
& hear the corn turning
into water

turning tentacle & 
kelp forest

there are peaceful moments 

when i remain perfectly
still & i can listen 
hard enough to find my old voice 

it still paces underwater 

grass stained shoes 
from the morning walk 

white bleached hair 
smoking from flat iron 

she's bleeding 
crushing strawberries
in between her fingers

someone throw her
in the deep end 

she'll swim
she'll swim