Last Swim

It might have been a Tuesday,
but that's not important. Not really.
All she knew
was that when she looked at her pool
it looked more like a blue-tiled picture frame
than a destination.

She had no desire to get in.
No pull to feel her arms slice through the flat coolness;
no anticipation of floating on her back
watching flickers work their way up the palms;
no wondering about where the tiny planes might be going
or who they might be taking there.

There was only a noticing.

A brief thought that maybe the last time
was the last time.
That she should have marked it on her calendar
like all those social events,
due dates,
doctors' appointments,
first days of school,
fall days her barn swallows left for Mexico,
spring days they came back, and

long lost friends' birthdays.

Maybe she'd do it later.
The calendar was on the fridge in the kitchen
and final Jeopardy was about to begin.

© 2023 Linda Rittenhouse
2nd Place ASPS Award
First published in Sandcutters.