Swimming Lesson
Christine Pennylegion
My grandmother learned swimming from a book,
belly pressed flat against the piano bench:
a stroke or two, a pause to take a look,
correct her form, will muscles to unclench
against the pull of gravity. She held
her breath, imagined water all around,
dreamed sand between her toes, and thought she smelled
the sea-brined air, despite the solid ground
and solid wood beneath. Her arms were cranes
in flight, her back a pillar rising from
the sea—with seaweed rippling through her veins,
she swam on land until her legs went numb.
One day she met the ocean, slipped inside
as radiant with laughter as a bride.
About the author
Christine Pennylegion has lived in and around Toronto, Ottawa, Pittsburgh, Baltimore, and Windsor. She holds a BA(Hons) in English from the University of Toronto and an MAR from Trinity School for Ministry. Her poems have been published by Dunes Review, Humana Obscura, Understorey Magazine, and others. Read more at christinepennylegion.com.
Christine lived in Timonium from 2016 to 2019. Even though she’s been back in Canada for five years, she still finds that Baltimore ‘O’ slipping out from time to time. “Pass the tOast, hon.”