That use to be a pond, he pointed
at a grassy field getting eaten by houses.
As kids, we learned how to swim in it.
We bath in it, wash clothes in it.
I suppose houses are better,
The water was dirty anyway.

I never learned how to swim, I mentioned.
Where I grew up, there's a pond we call Cool River; 
the water is always cold.
While other kids dove into it,
I'd watch over their clothes by its bank.
I was shy. I still am.
These days, it is mostly mud.
On its good days, it stands only a few feet tall.
I suppose it is better now,
People have drowned in it.

That silent question lingered between our breasts,
always, almost voiced.
Silent perhaps because we're afraid of the answer.
&nb...

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