You are a lifeguard.
I jumped in the pool today,
and I almost didn’t
come back up for air.
I thought of your hands on her hips
and his hand smacking my face,
leaving spots and scars
I’d have to conceal for weeks.
I thought of my mother crying
all alone in her bed,
and my father
with his face buried in
that other woman’s hair.
I almost didn’t
come back up for air.

I did, though I was choking
and coughing and wishing I didn’t
as I tried to dispel water from my lungs.
You are a lifeguard
because the months
you spent tracing and kissing and healing,
guarding my heart against days like this,
whispering, breathing, sighing at
one, two, three in the morning,
‘I love you, I love you, I love you’
all came rushing back
and reminded me
that I am not weak
and I don’t waste time,
and that I don’t need you
because you could never save me -
you guard hearts
but He saves them.