My sister screamed underwater
once, years ago.
We were taking swimming lessons and
I remember the scene as if it were a still-life, maybe
or a painting by Andrew Wyeth,
though my sister’s name was
Helen,
not Christina.
The painting I remember is done in
the baked-out colours of august, where
anything young or green is looking pretty tired.
Helen/Christina was tired.
A girl among boys, she became rough-
house. We made her bait our fish hooks
‘cause she was tougher and no worm ever
bothered her. Myself? I couldn’t stand the
things.
Helen/Christina was tough but she suffered.
Ear infections that were
‘cured’
by allowing each drum to burst,
relieving pressure,
dulled her hearing. Baked it out,
as it it were the colour of August.
The day I am remembering,
Helen/Christina was following instructions.
She was learning to swim, she was getting familiar
with the water, she held her breath, she crossed
her legs and sat on the lake bottom.
The water must have felt ferocious
when it closed over her raw ears.
She screamed.
The teacher yanked her up, out of the water,
fearing a drowning.
It was too late.
Helen/Christina had already drowned,
we didn’t know that yet.
Robert On The Air 