The teenage lifeguard called in sick. My parents
were busy eating their clam cakes on a bench.
When I sank to the pool’s bottom, no one
noticed. My little sister splashed on the concrete step
and thereafter became an only child. I overshadowed
her, giving her nightmares. My parents
never forgave themselves, even though
they had both warned a bratty me to stay
in the shallow end. I became their angel,
visited their dreams with my tiny wings.
I never went through puberty, never grew up
to write my first sonnet commemorating
my near-death, never made it to my sixties
so I could write this poem. My poor living sister,
the rule follower, now alone, would have
given anything to see me dragged out,
given mouth-to-mouth, then grounded—
no bike, no TV—for the rest of the month.