Katherine Gekker

Reflected through skylights — Jupiter in Orion.
Neptune in Pisces. Pluto in Capricornus.

I ignore the sign posted next to the defibrillator —
No Lifeguard on Duty. Swim at Own Risk.

(I’m not supposed to be here but I have a key.)
Just this once, could I swim from one side

of the Atlantic to the other? To kneel beneath
the pillars of my creation?
                                   I know about their

desperate escapes. From tsarist pogroms.
The Nazis. In storms. Aboard the immigrant

SS Presidente Wilson. SS Westernland.
                                                      & poor Nan.
My mother’s schoolgirl friend. Her transport

hit a Nazi mine. Nan’s mother survived.
Where are they all? No longer on this plane.

But not left behind either.
                                   Above me —
deep space. Rogue planets drift. Those

lonely worlds. Ghost galaxies.
                                       Is that Pluto
sitting poolside? Or Charon? Waiting to wind

me in my towel?
                     Their feet churn water.
It fractures. Tidal waves swamp me. I sink,

then break the surface. Through my goggles,
stars wobble. Constellations disappear.

After, warming up in the shower, veins in my
hands stand out like Europa’s ridges, faults —