Krik Krak. That was the start of the only song I knew. Mama didn’t sing because ‘there was never anything to sing about’.

Krik Krak. I would hear the rickety floor boards above me and wait for the black eyed men with trees for arms to come down and carry the next swimmer away…

I wanted to be the next swimmer so bad, but Mama told me never to say that because then I would spoil the game…

Because then when my turn came, it wouldn’t be as fun.

She promised we’d swim together…
Krik…trees for hands towered around me and
Mama…

Kraaaak!!! Mama broke her promise.