It’s busy at the pool
my feet
flesh waddle to the edge
cool
slip body in
unseen
two lifeguards are on duty
I am unremarkable.

I knife downwards
3m precisely
toes fumble bleached white tile
I am a statue in Atlantis
for as long as I can hold my breath.

When I was 12, I was haunted by a book. The girl protagonist, I recall her vividly, with hip bones pushing out the front of her flimsy summer dress. She was so aware of her hip bones; she spoke of them like they were a second brain. That day I believed I was not sharp enough, that my bones would always be the focus, even though I could not tie a bow around my tibia.

A minute passes.

Do they not believe I am drowning
or is this just another kind of beauty?

Zoë Davis is an emerging writer from Sheffield, England. A quality engineer by day, she spends her evenings and weekends writing poetry and prose, and especially enjoys exploring the interaction between the fantastical and the mundane, with a deeply personal edge to her work. You can find her words in publications such as: Ink Sweat & Tears, Strix, Roi Fainéant, Funicular Magazine and Red Ogre Review. You can also follow her on X @MeanerHarker where she’s always happy to have a virtual coffee and a chat.