Swim Team – Naval Air Station, Guam, 1973

Solid on her two bare feet, she 
stands with her teammates in the locker room.
Her brown hair with its sunny streaks woven through 
hangs in a braid tied off with a red rubber band.
The tip of her ponytail like a spade is dripping wet, the water 
easing down her back and under her striped swimsuit
where the skin is milky white. 
In the laughter of the big girls, she 
feels like she’s floating, resting on a raft, 
rather than pulling herself like a frog with her arms 
reaching out & her legs spreading wide, 
moving the water like earth being cleared for something new. 
She won her race today. Not a personal best. 
	But she doesn’t pay attention to that. 
The play of it all, her body dancing like a mermaid ballerina – 
that’s why she’s there. 
The captain, striding to the shower, slows long enough 
to hold up her right hand, fingers spread wide in front of the little one’s face. 
She claps her hand against the big salute. The feel of their palms 
hitting each other vibrates for a few seconds & 	
moves up her arm & into her center. 
“Great race!” 
Another vibration then tickles her ears & 
touches her core, meeting up with the energy of the clap. 
Looking up, her brown eyes glittering like the card she 
made her mom for her birthday last week, 
she smiles.
Not with her lips sealed & tilted up at the edges, 
but so her braced teeth show through her soft pink lips & 
a little giggle comes out.

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