Purgatory, is what I’d call it,
Somewhere beautiful yet desolate, a blue
That could require a pair of shades to take
Away the edge, the brutal feeling that
We’re on the edge, tilting dangerously
Towards the great unknown, and swimmer’s arms
Swinging manically, their quiet singing
As they listen through their Beats, wanting
To be sick, to run, to enter through the jaws of Hell,
But they will have no choice, but to walk the other way,
Out into the light, where spirits weight,
Lenses of their eyes zoom in and we must strip away
Our tracksuits like those butterflies emerging
From cocoons, fluttering our wings or flags.
But butterflies don’t race, they dance,
And we will swim until our lungs are burning with
That enduring need to win, to know we’re loved
And in that call room we are shaken to our core
With an awful uncertainty, stay or go
That’s the dilemma that the swimmer meets.
2 thoughts on “the 100m butterfly call room”
This is really evocative, Rachel! And I think it really does reflect what swimmers must go through. I’ve never been a competitive swimmer, but I can imagine…
I agree–“evocative” is the word!