When Women Knock
-after Sharon Olds 

When the girls dive into
a pool of chlorine
they create a graceful curve
the moment before impact,
their bodies arching
like they will with a future lover,
prepubescent bathing suits
covering their stomachs,
their narrow hips that will soon widen.
One day they will be split in half
like the dividing of atoms,
their breasts rising, mountains
for a future someone to scale. 

Maybe someone has already told them
that they will drip crimson
and lose the years between now and then
like the relentless shedding of skin.
Do they know of the art
of crossing their legs,
do they run their hands over flat chests
and knock on each other’s sternums,
hoping the women in them will answer,
sprouting from their bodies
when they come up for a breath of air,
already fully formed, invincible.