Morning Dip
Aug 20 2020
The new robe was thick terry cotton.
What luxury, I thought
warm, heavy, soft.
On a dull chilly day
descending to the lake
clutching it close.
And then, like a tightly clenched bud
unfurling itself,
a hard chrysalis
splitting apart
so its delicate winged fledgling, fully formed
could freely emerge,
I slipped it off
and stepped into the cool still water
which was dark, and unwelcoming.
Which I know intimately
having swum here for years,
but is still keeping its distance
mystery
allure.
The exhilarating cold.
The mesmerizing rhythm
of a practised powerful stroke.
The full measured breath
and the cleansing exhalation
completely emptied out.
And the robe, where it had dropped
in a pile of supple folds.
Like a boneless creature, left onshore
awaiting my return,
heavy, soft, and warm.
It's unseasonably cool this week. All summer, the lake hasn't really warmed up, and the recent rain has left the water even colder. So I was in a wetsuit, instead of my usual au naturel.
But I did break out the thick terry-cloth robe for the first time today, and it was a delight. I don't stay in fancy hotels (I only travel when absolutely necessary!), but I'm pretty sure this is the type of complimentary robe they lay out at the Carlyle, Four Seasons, or Pierre.
And the lake, which I've been swimming in for decades, continues to give me pause in this cool overcast: its still dark surface a little forbidding; the cold shock on entry.
I often try to make something universal (presumably profound, but more often than not pretentious!) out of the particular in my poems. But this one is purely mood and setting, a stylistic exercise. I'm glad I didn't feel the need to justify it with an attempt at some greater message. Poetry doesn't need that to be worthwhile.
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