Skip to content

Swan Dive, 1974

Published by broussardlana on February 6, 2017

When she did that swan dive
off the high board
I swear, the freaking world stopped.
Walking along the side of the pool,
fresh faced, platinum hair,
I was lost in waves of awe and hate –
envy, rather.
The water nymph and I
could never be friends
mainly it was over
a certain boy
who played well at sports
and other things too.
That summer,
my jealousy burned
like the sun rays
hitting that crystal blue water.
She had logged hours
getting that golden skin
practicing diving
while I was lost
in the pages of books
peering through library stacks
traveling those rows of untold stories
skipping to other worlds.
The stroll to the board
even the lifeguard was mesmerized –
nobody better drown now
the gaping stares
of even the little kids
in the shallow end
the smell of chlorine
sprinkling the heat of
a summer day.
Floating up the ladder
and she was perched
there on the edge of
the high dive.
The spring jump
culminated into a perfect arc
her hair fluttering behind her
hitting the water as neatly
as a pin point
without sound
all air
and beautiful blonde hair.

Published inpoetryPoetrystories

44 Comments

  4. D. Wallace Peach D. Wallace Peach

    Amazing, Lana. I love the slice of time, like a snapshot. And the topic is interesting and fresh. For every dream girl, there were scores of us who watched from the edge.

    # February 7, 2017
  8. Phil Ryan Phil Ryan

    Can we skip my usual bleat about not knowing the song, I think we know I’ve been residing in a monastery these last 70 years or so….
    No, let’s get to my usual beat about just how great this piece of writing is. I noticed the lifeguard too and the ice cream seller nearby pouring his 100s and 1000s all over his hand in open mouthed abandon. That you took me from the cold, drab, February feeling of northern England to that poolside 43 years ago is one superb feat of word alignment, LT. Every week you provide me with a new favourite poem. Just brilliant! 🙂

    # February 7, 2017
    • L. T. Garvin, Author L. T. Garvin, Author

      Phil, you are so going to become a fan of Natalie Merchant’s music, I would just bet on it :-D. Well, that’s a pretty cool compliment, I thought a flashback to a hot summer day might help the winter doldrums. There is no pressure there for future weeks, right? Thanks so much, Phil!

      # February 7, 2017
  11. Just Joan Just Joan

    Perfectly captured, Lana. This slo-mo moment, the burn of envy, everyone in awe, even the lifeguard’s eyes aimed where they shouldn’t be… Like the cousin who played the piano so beautifully and never flubbed up a note, or the friend whose form was so perfect as she turned cartwheels or round-offs and landed without a misstep. Perhaps now, they are jealous of the poetry we write? I can hope. 🙂

    # February 7, 2017
    • L. T. Garvin, Author L. T. Garvin, Author

      Oh Joan, those are all great comparisons, and to have deal with these types of accomplishments by peers as a teenager is rather daunting. People do, have their strengths and talents and all excel at different things. Perhaps indeed, they might be jealous of the ones now who take up the pen and try to capture the poetry of life as it unfurls. I like the thought 😀

      # February 8, 2017
  12. Debbie Debbie

    Oh, wow, just proves we all don’t get here the same, do we, Lana? And wouldn’t it be horrid if we were all alike?? (Though I imagine most teenaged girls — and some boys, as well — would wish for more of the kind of attention a “water nymph” like this attracts!!)

    # February 7, 2017
    • L. T. Garvin, Author L. T. Garvin, Author

      That’s right, Debbie. We surely are all different, and we should remember to celebrate those differences, but as teenagers, we surely aren’t mature enough to embrace that yet. I suppose I will always remember that day, ha ha.

      # February 8, 2017
  14. Annika Perry Annika Perry

    Wonderful poem, Lana capturing the teenage physical attraction of the female diver, her beauty shining forth in the otherwise stifling claustrophobic summer heat. Not often a poem is written in the first person and it works so well here, the reader right there and the colloquialisms adding extra texture and colour.

    # February 10, 2017

Comments are closed.