I can't turn that key.
I can't open those floodgates
because I can't swim,
so I can't get washed away in that tide.
There's no floats for me to cling to
and no life jacket for me to put on,
so I can't open those floodgates
I've got to keep them padlocked.
I've got to stand like a sentinel at the gates
I've got to  stand like a watch dog,
like some stone Victorian gargoyle,
just watching,
making sure they never get opened.
That nobody ever comes along
and tries to set me free.
Free to face the current
that I  would stand no chance
of ever swimming through.
So,
I've got to shore up the gates with sand bags
and make sure  nobody passes.
The sand bags are a dead weight
 but drowned bodies are heavier
and I'll use either to reinforce the gates.
Anything so the water doesn't seep through
because I can't go there, not again.
I was lucky to make it out
bloated and blue, the last time
and I'm not taking any more chances.
What's dead is dead,
and I'm letting the river carry it away
I'm leaving it behind,
but I'm not going down in the current.
Be it Father Thames, Mother Ganga,
or the dreaded River Styx
it cannot have me.
I died that day
and I don't need another watery baptism.
I was baptized by holy fire and spirit
there is no need for stagnant water,
and floundering and bad memories and
near drowning. No.
I am saved.

© 2019 Claire Frances © 2016 Claire Frances Lloyd