The Fiddler of Driskill Hill: Poems

The Deep End

 The Deep End Cedar Grove Pool, Shreveport, Louisiana, 1955 in memory of my father, David V. Middleton, Jr. (1922–1996) So tentatively stepping to the end Of the limber board until my clenching toes Felt for the edge while counterpoising hands And a twisting torso sought the balance point, I stared down at the water where you stayed Treading slowly, waiting for me to leap Or dive into the deep end and your arms One Sunday afternoon when public pools, Like all the blue-lawed town, were closed all day Except to you, their summer manager. I knew my way around the shallow end Where first I bobbed in inner tubes and then Went under after pennies on the bright green floor That sloped down as I floated toward a rope Beyond which lay the great unwaded dark, Emerald and unending in the eyes Of a scared boy standing on the diving board Hesitant as you yelled for him to jump. And so, trembling and teetering on the edge, Wavering between pure trust and total fear I weakly sprang collapsing in a splash, Then looked up paddling with my gasps and cries Toward you who had removed yourself a ways To make me swim through dead brown water bugs And sand flies stinging as I rose and sank Toward where you held your hand out from the bank. And now for three long years you’ve swum alone Breathlessly through death’s unfathomed pool While at your gravestone’s marble board I stand Trembling and looking down to find you there Treading the darkest depths we’ll ever know, Waters through which my soul must also go With faith and fear that bore me up before To clasp a hand extended from the shore. ...