Poems and Translations
Poetry of Sholeh Wolpé <Back To Poems Home Page
The Deep Dive
Stevie’s raisin-colored braids,
a shade lighter than his skin,
bob up–down as the waves punch the boat.
He signals Go down.
I don’t.
I stay close to the boat,
hold tight the taut rope.
Can’t breathe.
Not the air in the tank.
Not the air in the air.
My lungs inflate, deflate,
but that’s beside the point.
I can’t freakin’ breathe,
and I yell this to the waves,
to the boat,
to Stevie
who magically surfaces beside me,
an aurous brown god in goggles,
regulator hose dangling by his mouth.
He holds my head between his palms, says,
“But you ARE breathing. You ARE.”
I look at him and even in this panic, this feeling
of imminent death, I note how beautiful he is,
how I could perhaps outlive this storm
in this man’s brawny arms, let myself go
and the hell with the world,
with who I am, or am supposed to be,
with my anxious lover waiting at the shore.
“Relax, baby,” says Stevie, “I’ll stay with you."
He pulls me into his arms and I breathe deep
from the tank strapped to my back. Stealthily
he releases air from my jacket, adds
a cube of weight to my belt ,
and down we go, down
into the broth of another world.
The sea bottom is a sandy desert flush against massive rocks,
and there are cacti, tiny Joshua trees, and brown grass dancing
to the water current’s silent tango…
Time means nothing here.
Palestine, Israel, and Tehran mean nothing here,
my daughter contemplating suicide at twelve means nothing here,
sons in military fatigue breathing Iraqi air means nothing here,
even women giving life and grenades taking them away,
mean nothing here.
Here, the fish are birds,
electric blue fins, wings,
and beneath this airless sky, Stevie and I.
— Sholeh Wolpé
(From Rooftops of Tehran, Red Hen Press 2008)
