The Depths

Sometimes I am afraid of water.
When it's cold and dark.
Deep and mysterious.
When I don't know what is lurking beneath me.

Sometimes I am afraid of water.
When I am in a dream and see the shark circling.
When it's clear that
I have nowhere to escape.

Sometimes I am afraid of water.
When it's too hot and I feel like I will faint.
When I remember my mother putting me in the bathtub.
When all I could see was the steam rising and I screamed as my feet touched the surface.
When I can't remember anything after that.

Sometimes I am afraid of water.
When the waves get too large and lift my feet from the soft sand.
When I inhale salt and believe that I am about to taste death.

Sometimes I am afraid of water.
When I scan the bobbing heads and screaming bodies.
When I don't see my children anymore.

Sometimes I am afraid of water.
When it's pouring from the sky and the road is as black as tar.
When there are headlights blinding me as I try to navigate the curves ahead.

Sometimes I am afraid of water.
When the temperature has dropped to below freezing and I slide uncontrollably on the invisible ice.

Sometimes I am afraid of water.
When I slip in the shower and imagine how easily I could have just broken my bones or busted my face on the side of the tub.

Sometimes I am afraid of water.
When I am thirsty and it goes down the wrong pipe in my throat.
When I choke and cough  while I try to regain my breath.

Sometimes I am afraid of water.
When I have a heavy pot of boiling noodles and I have to pour it out into a strainer.
When the heat comes rolling up into my face and too close to my hands.

Sometimes I am afraid of water.
When I realize that I am mostly water and one day it will be dried up and gone when I return to the dust.