Nuclear Dive

Reactor, your rods 
flicker and slither—hair
beguiling me, swimming 
in spent fuel. Refusing
perimeters, I want an excitement

Dosimeters read. Your criticality
initiates frisson; I risk 
beta burns, dodging
your doses 
strewn throughout cooling

Cherenkov 
hues—though I’m losing 
acuity. Why am I 
diving, reaching? Am I
an Ama, searching

For Japanese pearls? Am I
a Fukushima girl
caught in a seiche?
No, I’m whorled into your
geisha chicanery,

Pool of blue fabrics winding
to you. What is the core?
A murderous thrust, a phosphor
essence I’d forgotten I knew
in me, before you.

Copyright © by Kevan Copeland