Despy Boutris
On Drowning
With every drowning, first comes
the terror. This I learned young.
When I started sitting on the shoreline,
watching what went on in the water,
I always knew when to jump
in. The second someone lost
their footing, their eyes bulged,
arms flailing, mouth searching
for air. & running in to help
them, I learned how deep that
desperation goes: how they’d stand
on my skull if it meant a gaspful
of air. So I learned the value
of escapes: duck beneath the water
& they’ll let go. Keep your safe
distance. This has gone on for years:
all these near-drowners nearly drowning
me. Only now it’s me who’s drowning.
I’m stranded in this lakeful of loss,
& what hope remains
keeps escaping me.
the terror. This I learned young.
When I started sitting on the shoreline,
watching what went on in the water,
I always knew when to jump
in. The second someone lost
their footing, their eyes bulged,
arms flailing, mouth searching
for air. & running in to help
them, I learned how deep that
desperation goes: how they’d stand
on my skull if it meant a gaspful
of air. So I learned the value
of escapes: duck beneath the water
& they’ll let go. Keep your safe
distance. This has gone on for years:
all these near-drowners nearly drowning
me. Only now it’s me who’s drowning.
I’m stranded in this lakeful of loss,
& what hope remains
keeps escaping me.
Biography
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Despy Boutris's writing has been published or is forthcoming in Copper Nickel, American Poetry Review, The Gettysburg Review, The Journal, Colorado Review, Prairie Schooner, and elsewhere. Currently, she teaches at the University of Houston, works as Assistant Poetry Editor for Gulf Coast, and serves as Editor-in-Chief of The West Review.
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