By Degree
Nov 27 2009


“It’s warm
once you get used to it”
they always reassure,
splashing enticingly.
And give it long enough
it usually works.

Every day, a little colder,
from invigorating
to brisk
to bone-deep chill.
So you swim hard, non-stop
all the way out.
This reminds me of the frog
who hops out of hot water
every time.
But when the water’s warmed slowly
he sits, contented
— boiled alive.

I hop in, regardless.
In early mornings
with steam coming off.
In late fall
through a skim of ice.
And in winter
when it’s a hard 6 inches,
and it takes a long-handled axe
a gas-powered auger
to open up.

I swim in darkness,
pressing my face
up against the ice
in the shallow pocket of air
trapped
beneath the frozen surface,
steeling myself to be calm
methodical.

It never gets colder
than 30 degrees.
Where my heartbeat slows
my skin loses feeling
and my mind is at ease.
Wondering only
how far can I go,
will the hole freeze over.