That last summer my parents were married
we had an above-ground pool—
big blue circle of a perfect July,
envy of all the neighbor kids
who rode their bikes over,
propped kickstands and climbed
feet-first into cold. The water reached
my chest. We played Marco Polo
for weeks, trying to lose each other
in a pool too small to hide
much of anything aside from the
cracked side that eventually collapsed,
filling our basement with swift-
muddied chlorinated water. My parents
did not replace the pool, and by summer
next, everyone save my father lived
in an apartment. My sister and I
did not mourn the change
of address—our new place had
friends aplenty, and in the center
of the complex was a bright clear
pool, adorned with umbrella tables
and two diving boards. Tell me,
what more could a kid want?
Header photograph © K Weber.
Emry Trantham is an English teacher in Western North Carolina, where she is raising three daughters, taking pictures, and writing poems. Her poetry has been published or is forthcoming in Noble Gas Qtrly, Cider Press Review, The Adirondack Review, and others. She is also a 2019 Gilbert-Chappell Emerging Poet.