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.