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Thanking My Mother for Swimming Lessons

  • Writer: Wren Jones
    Wren Jones
  • 2 days ago
  • 2 min read

Updated: 2 days ago

The relief of jumping free

of gravity, joy in the rising

kicking away

the confines of girl, 

bubbles for breath


as if

you had become

a new species 

turquoise and sparkling

dipping under only to find yourself

forever buoyed up 


I want to thank you my mother,

for the water and the wild

you gave me

hours in a shallow river, 

small hands crawling

over golden sand

my body trailing behind,

baby gator pouncing

on big sisters and brothers

swimming around me. 

I want to thank you

for dropping me

at the community pool

in wintertime, each week

and after, my hair frozen,

swinging my suit in plastic bag,

content waiting for you—

you were always late,

four kids, jobs, groceries.


I was a gangly kid at twelve,

tripping over my fresh stretched limbs  

slouching my shoulders

scared of this bigger self emerging

a fish out of water,

I’d put my speedo on,

dive into belonging. 


You helped me

become a lifeguard, 

then swimming instructor -

a ticket to part time jobs,

to freedom

camp swim counsellor,

a lifeguard in the mountains

outdoorsy friends and fresh water

that kept me together

my teenage self, falling apart.


Thank you mother,

for your steady rowing beside me 

on your beloved river

training for races and medals

in long distance swims.


Walking home from the Y today,

wet hair, cool breeze, bag swinging

knots left behind

along those black lines

I think of you, my practical mother

who didn’t hug or kiss cheeks

but gave me this gift of water—

it has saved me from drowning

over and over again.

__________


NaPoWriMo prompt: In her poem, Thanking My Mother for Piano Lessons, Diane Wakoski is far more grateful than I ever managed to be, describing the act of playing as a “relief” from loneliness and worry, and as enlarging her life with something beautiful. Today, we’d like to challenge you to write a poem about something you’ve done – whether it’s music lessons, or playing soccer, crocheting, or fishing, or learning how to change a tire – that gave you a similar kind of satisfaction, and perhaps still does.



©2025 by Wren Jones.

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