on the painting “Swim Team no.26”
by Rebecca Kinkead
We did it all our lives: formed queues.
We watched, single-filed,
thinking of what we’d have, we’d do.
Waiting for our time in the sun.
Yet when it was our turn
to sit at our mother’s deathbed
lose our job or breast or house
question God for pain
we were no more ready than the person before us
fall through air
try to swim