for Miya 

“I’m not as good a swimmer as you think,” you’d said, 
so you carried the pink noodle we’d found finally 
upstairs in a downtown Bern department store,  
a cheap children’s toy 
but one that would do the job  
in the rapid river.  

The evening before,  
you were busy  
phoning friends back home  
to secure your first apartment,  
our hotel windows open to the late sun  
and street bustle below:  
buses joggling over cobblestone streets,  
sidewalk café laughter,  
and a tour group’s excited chatter     
outside the medieval arcade’s sushi bars  
and Piaget watch shops.  

So I’d grabbed bathing suit and knapsack,  
finding the way past historic Parliament buildings  
and brightly painted fountains, down the funicular,  
through the Marzili neighborhood to the river park’s acres of green  
with picnicking families and lovers, sunbathers  
beside seven swimming pools, volleyball games,  
musicians strumming beneath shade trees,  
and stone steps at regular intervals along the river. 
I’d questioned locals about river safety, entrances and exits,  
before walking a mile barefoot for a cool jump  
and rushing ride back to the plush summer playground.    

Together this morning,  
we followed the route past Parliament 
and fountains, down the funicular, through Marzili  
to the green of the busy river park, 
where I rented a locker  
to secure our clothes, towels, jewelry,  
and Swiss francs. On our mile stroll upstream,  
we watched others 
and I pointed out bends in the river,  
strategies for shallow spots, 
and egresses with their red railings. 

When you were ready,  
we stepped slowly to the river 
and pushed off together into the flow, 
your pink noodle beneath your arms.   
The river currents had other ideas for us 
but I angling my body with or against the river’s course, 
swimming forward or slowing down to remain close. 
Approaching the park, I reviewed exit options  
then led you to a side passage under a footbridge  
to gentler flow and into a calm basin 
where wide steps took us to the sunny lawns again. 

After the divorce years earlier, distracted,  
I hadn’t listened closely, observed carefully, 
done advanced reconnaissance  
to ease your steps into changing waters. 
I want so badly to swim back in time  
to listen, observe, provide maps and instructions, 
hold out a firm hand in storms and rapids, 
find buoys when you were over your head,    
guide you toward calmer waters and solid steps  
to sunshine, green grass, 
and melodies calling you to dance.