Water You Can’t Swim In

You say that rivers are dirty,
that swimming there isn’t a good idea.

Maybe that’s why your eyes judge me,
why your words cut so sharp.

Did I spend too many summers in that river?
Should I have stayed inside instead?

You say the ocean is clean,
that beaches are where real swimmers go.

You speak like I’ve never been —
but we both know I have.

Still, you lived closer to the beach,
and I just had my lame river.

I visited that beach,
the one you speak so fondly of.

It’s polluted.
You can’t even swim there.

For a moment, I judge you back.
How could anyone love such a place?

That’s what you think of my river,
when all it ever symbolised was home.

So I tell you,
I understand.

I stood on that shore, after all.
Dipped my toes into the corrupted water,

Thinking maybe my understanding
might ripple into yours.

But to you, the river still doesn’t suffice.
So I guess I won’t swim there anymore.