July of my fifteenth year
on vacation with my father
Somewhere on the East Coast
Faded photographs rest untouched
in one of the many shoe boxes out of reach
The clearest memory I have
was in the deep end of the hotel pool
I sank down and held myself there
Eyes focused on the glimmering sun
Blurry through the rippling water
I felt vulnerable in the best way
Knowing letting my breath out
Would lead to going home
To an all-encompassing silence
While I only let out half of my breath
Before coming back up to greet the sunbeams
That memory never left.