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Sestina #1: Dawn
Megan Zdrojkowski
The earliest birds call
to one another. They stretch
their necks toward the coming sun, their feathers smooth
as they flit across deep water, making swirls in the steam.
Small feet grip hard
branches. The birds sing themselves raw.
Nine women line up on a patch of raw
earth. The smallest of them calls
out numbers with a voice hard
and strong. The women stretch
as one and watch the pale steam
rise off the sleepy river, smooth
except for the wake of mallards. Two women smooth
back their hair and whisper with voices raw
from yesterday's excitement. On the river, a small boat burbles through
steam.
The women call
to the passing fisherman, who stretches
his hand in greeting. He gives a hard
nod and gives gas to his chuckling engine. The women move indoors onto hard
cement. Dozens of smooth
shells lie stacked to the ceiling. Lanky oars stretch
from wall to wall, held aloft by raw
oak. The coxswain gives a call,
and the last of the women comes in, exhaling steam,
grinning. The coach glares through the steam
from his coffee and gives a hard
look at his watch. On the coxswain's call,
eight women lift the boat overhead in one smooth
motion. They move surely outside over the raw
ground, muscles straining as they cross the last stretch
of land. On the dock, they roll the boat down and stretch
their arms out to gently lower it through the steam
into the river. One woman yelps as her raw
palm hits an oarlock. She tries hard
to ignore the sharp sting and sits ready in her seat. The launch is smooth,
fast. The bow slices through water. The coxswain speeds up her call,
and the women stretch to match it, their muscles hard
as diamonds. Their bodies steam as strength twitches under smooth
skin. The boat flies, propelled by raw desire and the coxswain's sharp call.
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