lifeguard 

there is no lifeguard at the lake.
i try to tell everyone that we will be fine
as long as we remember how to swim. 
i learned everything i know about water
from the minnows: break into a ribbon
& they cannot catch all of you.
the sun turns into a crowd of milkweed flowers. 
then, a sandpaper dusk. i run as far as i can from 
the legs of strangers. at a dinner 
between friends, we all talk about
how we want to be saved. one person wants
to be pulled from a shipwreck.
another wants to be saved from
a burning bedroom. i admit that i crave 
to be plucked from the water
by a passing spirit. i long 
for the water to speak & say,
"you were meant to survive." 
my partner tells me, "you are not worried enough
about drowning" just because i believe
i could always cut myself gills.
sometimes i am arrogant. sometimes,
even worse, i am certain of myself.
the minnows are the best teachers
to help me unravel this.
they say, "there is always a piece of the school
we can salvage." the limbs i have lost.
the fragments of my echo body. 
water, the first mirror. an uninvited guardian angel.
he hovers above the water 
& asks, "would you like a powdered donut?"
i decline. you should not eat & swim.
the minnows beg, "feed us. feed us."