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Jul 2018
I used to be afraid of water, certain that I would drown

I don't want it near my face, for the feeling makes me flinch

Flinching in fear, waiting to drown

A fear that's drifted within me since childhood

Ever since my grandmother put me in swim classes

Because she couldn't stand the water near her face

Today, from my mother, I learned why

A father that evaporated like a summer's rain

Who would cleanse her of her sins in the lake yonder

Each splash drenching what was already emaculate

A father who praised God more than she

I've never seen my grandmother swim

Only wade through shallow waters

I used to be afraid of water, for I have waded my whole life

Two generations of sinking behind me, but I will swim
My grandmother was the youngest of 10 children born to a father who was 64 years old. She spent most of her life trying to escape her rural upbringing.

The aversion towards water is fact but is also a metaphor for trauma and my family's inability to escape their past and move beyond their comfort zone. This poem was inspired by a real conversation with my mother who is a PTSD sufferer.
Written by
Chelsea
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     Tahirih Manoo and Cana
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