Du Nord

It is time,
so we sit in the little sauna by the lake.
It is hot and glowing in the velvety blue night.
We see how long we can last,
burning, melting, storytelling,
before we need to run out,
sweat trickling down like marbles
over our pale pink bodies,
orange by the fire
blue by the water.

We push open the door,
ceramic sculptures breaking free from the kiln,
breathing sharp autumn air
into our lungs,
pine needles and lodge wood.

You grab the bucket,
dip it in the cold night lake
pour the cold night lake
over our heads.
We will gasp
we will shriek,
boys are coming down the trail,
and after so many years
beside them on this Earth
we still squirm
at the thought of them seeing us,
naked, wild girls
free and shimmering under white-gold stars,
in the dark lands of fire and canoes.

We grab towels before they see us,
and disappear into the woods.
It feels right to hold these raw moments,
this sparkling grace
so close to our skin.

—By Juliet Farmer