And now I’m sweating in a pool.
Getting Aquafit before work with folks twice my age,
bathing in the beauty and humanity of it all.

I wish this for my patients.

Tears come suddenly, and are washed away
by a rogue wave of chlorinated water.

Hope is flowing.

in sunscreen.

A perfect silver pouf hairdo above her broad visor,
the woman next to me grins in bright red lipstick.

The sun warms my head and my body moves
with the surprising grace of a whale underwater,
in the embrace of this oasis.

Above the water float beats
from Beyoncé and Dolly, Khalid and Stevie,
as we dance with foam barbells and pool noodles,
bobbing sun hats, flutter kicking to the music.

Naomi, our Aquafit Amphitrite,
choreographs our moves from the deck,
her mirrored Ray-Bans reflecting
our glistening faces smeared

Aquafit Me

I’m forty four.
In my Shrek accent, that’s farty far.
Smoldering burnout and aching joints,
battling gravity and anxiety,
swimming in charts,
meetings and messages.
But gliding into this 85 degree pool,
I am no longer an ogre.
I become a ballerina in a tankini.