Through Water

by Deirdre Abrahamsson

The wind slices,
licks the water into white caps.
I am in a single scull,
first time alone, no longer in the practice boat.
I have fallen behind,
like a wayward duckling.
I want to do well.
I want to catch up to the group,
to the leaders who
slice the water confidently,
with long, sure strokes.
But as I slide forward on my seat
and momentarily hold the oars
just above the water, I feel unstable.
I catch my breath
as I feel the scull tip, but I get the oars
down just in time, and I sweep them
through the water, press my legs hard
against the foot rest, push, and propel
myself forward.
OK, breathe. I will be ok.

I take long strokes, not hesitating
for too long at that weak spot
where my oars dance above the water.
I keep moving forward,
trying to make up for lost
distance and time.
I reach the Spring Street Bridge.
Traversing through is difficult enough
when the water is calm.
With a glance over my shoulder
I steer the scull through.

The Author

Deirdre has been writing poetry for nearly 20 years and is just beginning to pore through her voluminous journals and start airing them out. She currently lives in Kalmar, Sweden with her husband Petter, their son Gavin and three cats. In 2003 she started an informal creative writing group in Kalmar with other American expats. She is an aspiring writer of books for Young Adults focusing on the positive benefits of sport participation for girls.