11: Open - Nov 2021

Rough Water

The storm arrived
to play, to provoke 
the lake in earnest,
after I set 
off on my swim.

I felt it move
from diamonds and gleam
to graphite 
and raw edges.

Weightless, tossed sideways over
and again, and
in my small irrelevance
I stroke 
towards land,
turn my breath
away from the waves
wanting in.

Lake of refuge, reliability and
impervious beauty, 
reminding me now of its
unfathomable self, its
The thresholds I routinely ignore, the
small line so huge between lake swim and
what is washed up on the shore.

I taste like water
and driftwood.

-Tanya Fenkell

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