i told them i didn’t know how to swim
the way you tell a small lie
that becomes the house you live in
at ten
i met the lake like a promise
the surface throwing light in every direction
i walked in past my knees, past my waist
and then the bottom dropped away
and the water opened its dark mouth
and swallowed my name
i remember the surface from underneath
how it looked like hammered silver
how my hands reached for it
and found nothing to hold
how the screams turned to bubbles
and rose without me
how quiet it was
how the quiet was the worst part
no hand came
i want you to understand that
no hand came
when they pulled me out
i left something on the bottom
and for years i called it nothing
i laughed on dry sand
i lied with such skill
i forgot i was lying
and when someone asked
i said i never learned
as if the lake hadn’t already taught me everything
it knew about my body
it lived in me
quiet as tidewater in a shell
the specific weight of water in the lungs
the silver surface getting further away
the hands finding nothing
decades later i drove to a lake alone
i don’t know why
i sat in the car for a long time
watching the light move on the water
the same light
the same indifferent beautiful light
i got out
i stood at the edge
i felt my body remember before my mind did
the cold rising past my knees, past my waist
and then the bottom dropped away again
and i went under
the surface from underneath
still looks like hammered silver
my hands still reached
and this time
this time
the silver held
i floated on my back
and the water held me
and i thought about the child
who went under alone
who left her screams as bubbles
who waited for a hand that was not coming
and i wanted to tell her
i wanted to go back down and tell her
it’s me
i’m the hand
i came back
i came back for you
i came back
—lyra moon (the lake was there before the drowning and it was there after and it did not distinguish between the two)
september 17, 2026