Poem #16 from a series of poems drawn from the imagination and collected as: a Bachelard reverie.
Back to Bachelard and me – Introduction
they call it
the drowning pool
and this night
she goes there for the first time
to contemplate
as she submerges
it has been a popular place
for an end
to young girls
the still
beckoning water
white flowers
seclusion
so many
have made the descent
on the dirt path
that raises a fragrance
of forest
with each slippered step
she pushes her way
into the water
through the ill consideration
of early arrivals
only the determined
find a place
she pushes her way
into the water
through the diaphanous spread
of silky veils
and shifts and dresses
of early arrivals
she pushes her way
to make a space
where she can wade
unimpeded
into the heart
of the pool
she pushes her way
with her feet
beneath the water
to clear
a little room
for her to settle
finally
personal space
surrounded
by a wall
a lacy-cloth logjam
of new arrivals
but
at least a space
that is hers alone
right now
before the wave
of new arrivals
a space
for her to contemplate
futility
and despair
as she submerges
to join with the throng
of early arrivals
© Frank Prem 2017
Bachelard and me Poem #17: ya-hey ya-ho (to fly)
