In the neighboring lanes, retirees walk the slow churn. Sinew writhes under mottled hips, hearts chug in their loose cages of hollowing bone. We turn the creaking millstones of our musculature and send low ripples along the surface.
Mid-afternoon is a world apart from evening here. During the late rush, fierce middle-aged racers tear a wake between ropes. Teen divers knife skyward before the plunge.
Now, the most animated bodies in the water are a half-dozen preschoolers gripping swim bars and kicking with all their might. The rest of us sway. We are seaweed, we are prey. Continue reading “Lapping at Edges”
Shannon E. Williams 