Mason Shreve

Breathing dangerously
​
We used to practice holding our breath in the dirty
pond behind my house, counting the seconds

like lightyears. One, two, three. ( ) A hundred
& twelve. A hundred & thirteen. Do you remember

how my mom came running out of the house
that one time? How she thought we’d drowned?

But we just popped out of the scummy water
like a couple of Jesus bugs. Don’t worry, I said.

We don’t know how to die. & you just laughed
& laughed & smeared some mud on my skinny chest.


originally published in Little River