OVERWINTERING

it’s the wet season when i want nothing 

more than to strip my skin and submerge 

in idleness like a koi fish burrowed in soft sediment.

i used to think when the lake

froze over, the fish froze with it, thawed 

again in spring— a childish sentiment.

in winter, most fish go deep down 

beneath a layer of ice, reduce activity, slow 

their heart rates.

when my heart rate slowed

and the paramedic wouldn’t let me leave 

until it picked up again, she flinched

at my cold hands. i was alive and

i was in shock.

i used to imagine how

long months passed for the rest of the world 

spare the frozen fish.

as an adult, i remember this 

while trying to find the language 

for trauma.

some butterfly species enter diapause,

a dormancy which can occur in any life stage.

this was supposed to be a poem about fish.

some overwinter in hollow trees, 

rocks, wood piles, buildings.

but i could never look down at that ice 

without my reflection staring back.

some species fly somewhere warmer. 

some can only swim deeper.

i cannot strip this skin. i am still waiting for spring.

a pinned tortoiseshell butterfly 

looks like a red sun frozen mid-sky.