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Antonia Banyard

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How to Swim the Butterfly

I have always wanted to build a pool
in our basement. So I could teach you
the butterfly stroke. After a long day of cell
phones and car alarms, we would walk down
the stairs together and I would say:
                                          forget for a moment
that for so long your hands have curled
into fists blunt and square as Mac trucks. Let them unfurl
in the water. You need big hands. Push
of f the wall and, pulling the water aside, describe
a key hole the length of your body. Lead
with your chin, unlock the door. You turn
into a dolphin, first your shoulders, your slippery
spine, and finally
your legs. Your hips are hinges,
                                      your knees an opposing set,
you bend like a Japanese blind. As you break
the surface, the air tastes sweet
and brief. Your shoulders lift
from your body, your arms encircle a rolling globe
that you are falling over. Reach back into
the water, search for the key.
OK now. Faster.
Is this where I stroke
the butterfly? you ask.
                                           Not yet, not yet.

 

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