lasqueti, by bethany koughan

the city ones got drunk on scrumpy
and danced barefoot
til the sound stopped

the islanders – escaping less –
maintained their bearings
and did not walk into a chicken ditch
or sacrifice a shoe to the sea

the visitor wore a scrap-sewn cloak,
fashioned at the festival that day
where Valeria had been to swim
and spoke of phosphorescence

on that new moon night
they followed the dark path down
wanting to know that glow
to set bodies in saltwater
and watch the edges glimmer
in that otherworldly way

when sleep came
in dreams they were still dancing
in that liquid crystal ellipses
that stays
until sunrise

Bethany is a farmer/artist currently tending the traditional lands of the Anishinaabek Peoples in Guelph, Ontario. She has previously been published in The Buzz,
and The Coast.

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