STEVEN SANCHEZ
Most People Drown Facing the Shore
Brother, swim
behind me—
hold
my back
against
your chest
because if I see you,
I might buoy
myself
upon your shoulders
like that pastor
who thought
he'd made us
straight.
Panic
brines my lungs.
Our family
laughs
along the shore—
I think they see me
but it's hard to tell
a person is drowning—
always
in silence,
the body translates
words
into breath,
voice
into gasp.
Fatigue sears
my muscles
and irons my tongue
that has refused
prayer
since I filled your mouth
with the eucharist
of my fist,
the blood
of christ.
Now,
a grown man,
I don't even know
how to tread,
how to trust
my hands
will keep me
afloat
if only
they'd submerge
instead of grasp
for you.
Steven Sanchez's debut book, Phantom Tongue (Sundress Publications, 2018), was selected by Mark Doty for the Rochelle Ratner Memorial Award. He is a CantoMundo Fellow, Lambda Literary Fellow, and the winner of the Federico García Lorca Prize. His poems have appeared in Agni, American Poetry Review, Missouri Review, and elsewhere. (www.stevensanchezpoetry.com)