I Long To Swim (Lake Michigan)

We have learned that suffering is never poetic. That you cannot turn blood into paint. You cannot sweep the streets with desperation. October has been proof of this. The streets remain full as I beg for a hand to hold mine own— begging for friendship. We have learned that feelings are not tangible. That friendship cannot reach through the screen of my window and cradle me. You cannot speak to longing. Longing cannot speak. We have not yet learned to swim. Climbing from the well inside my heart— the same muscles, perhaps. Legs and arms. I long to swim. But to swim— swim— I cannot swim. It is too late in October. We miss the water. It cannot be poetic to suffer and suffering cannot touch you in the cold Windy City. 2 blocks away I could learn to swim. I could also learn to drown. I long for something deeper than Lake Michigan— something poetic in the waves but it will not show itself to me. Drowning could be beautiful. Death is not tangible in the tides. I long to swim. Friendship cannot blossom in Fall for blossoming belongs in Spring. Feelings should speak— all year— all night— say something. I need you to say something. I beg October to have mercy on me as Lake Michigan darkens in the night. To suffer cannot be longing. Longing lives within me, surely. You cannot pull me beneath the current, Longing. You have tried. Your waters could not compete with the well inside my heart— far too deep to climb. Suffering could be poetic. Death could be tangible. I could learn to swim. Lake Michigan, grant these true. 2 blocks away. The Windy City mocks my request. Go to sleep, child. She cannot feel my suffering but she can hold it for me while I sleep. Good night, Lake Michigan.

— ODH