You stand at the edge of the pool, expectant,
though it is you who will kneel down to test the water,
lower yourself into the pool, and begin.
You push off the wall with the soles of your feet,
skin humming into agreement with the water's heat
so that air becomes the foreign element, cold
and full of gravity. Your body glides forward,
in love with water, and each time you rise
to pull air into your hollow requiring,
your arms spread wide, watery sleeves,
and your cupped hands fill.
Poems by Lisa Sitkin:
TEN: An Anthology of Northern California Poets