Stepping out of the pool
wearing nothing but a dare,
she looks around.
No roofers in sight,
only the neighbor’s cat
curled under the Mimosa
and a gecko doing pushups on the fence.
She crosses her arms in front of her
covering herself like a shield.
It’s the Pilgrim in her you know.
Then slowly, she drops the facade,
lifts her arms wide
and does breaststrokes in the air.
The stars aren’t even out,
high noon howls at her back
as she glides this way and that,
barefoot in the sun,
pirouetting in grass that’s still green
until the scarecrows come out.
A hawk flies overhead,
his high-pitched keeee calling her
to join him.
She takes off across the yard
and decades fall behind her,
shedding the years until she is five
and running through sprinklers.
Diving into the blue,
she torpedoes through the water
propelled by an energy
she hasn’t felt in years.
When she comes up for air,
she spots two lily pads of cloth
floating nearby…the discarded suit.
Flipping on her back,
the buzz of a light plane catches her attention.
And she laughs at the moment
when she defied convention.
© Kathleen M. Rodgers