My brother used to gather rocks in his pockets
and sink to the bottom of our swimming pool.
The cerulean blue of the porcelain tiles
surrounding him on all sides.
I used to sit on the upstairs balcony
staring down at his distorted figure,
trying to imagine the world from down there.
There’s a crack in the tiles at the bottom
from when I tried it. A stone that could sink
me with it slipped from my grip.
I thought of my brother as I plunged
into the eight foot deep unknown.
The world outside looked misshapen,
but the blue was so clear.
c.s.