Subway | Bella Melardi
Crying on the subway
Check ing
and check ing
and check ing my phone
The train lurches
My reflection
My reflection ripples in the window.
​
Around me, the cart sways,
a slow current of strangers
gripping the metal poles
like they’ve learned how to float.
​
Ping. Ping. Ping.
A text slaps me across the cheek
​
I want to stay home today
​
Ping. Ping. Ping.
I already have plans
​
A punch in the gut
From nobody's hands
​
I feel like my body is a mosh pit for my emotions Every feeling
Shoving
pushing
kicking
The surface of my skin
​
Fighting
for the last pocket of air
​
I’ve been drowning
Since the day
I was supposed to learn how to swim
The water was already over my head
Everyone else was kicking calmly,
arms slicing the surface,
Talking about strokes
and breathing
​
I was swallowing the pool
​
Thrashing against the waves
trying to scrape my hands against land
trying to hold onto something solid
Trying to be held
​
When my forehead plunged
Under the sweeping water
A lifeguard pulled me up by my shoulders
​
My skin collapsed into his firm grip
His fingers brushed the thin strap
Where my black swimsuit clung to my shoulder.
​
And the lifeguard asked me
Why was I in the deep end?
​
And I said
This is where I started
Then he asked me why I jumped into a pool
When I don’t know how to swim
​
And I smiled and said
What’s swimming?
​
The train jerks to a stop.
My phone is still in my hand.
Bella Melardi is a poet and author. She writes about the political and personal. She attends OCADU.