To Drown

You told me you love to swim

and we talked of trips to a mountain lake.

I floated above the water,

testing my ability

before pulling you down.

No need for a life preserver, I can hold my breath.

I wanted to drown,

feel the water ripple across my skin,

hover within the water.

But I’m stranded in the desert.

Parched.

I no longer hear you calling my name.

 

It finally rains.

I stand outside and let the drops drip and stream down my face.

My arms outstretched and empty

and face expectantly tilted upwards.

You’ve left

to find

your hydration elsewhere.

The dry ground refuses to soak up the water

the arroyo floods

and I drown.