That Joy Practice Worked

When I’m drowning it takes all day to breathe again

Turning toward joy again and again.

Sometimes only getting so far as one deep breath.

Always at least one.

During one heavy season I’d get up before sunrise every day.

March to the bridge.

See the sun coming up one more time, its golden hope turning the river warm.

Grab the railing and sob. Turn around. March home.

I am so moved, writing this.

Seeing myself then, from the perspective of this woman I am this summer morning. I'm upright and cogent. Happy.

Watching the me of then: doubled over, in a white running vest, freezing. Trying.

I had no idea how to stand it.

But I took such good care of myself while I found my way back again.

Turning toward the light, stubbornly trusting it would work. 

It worked.