I am here because a friend asked me to be.
I am here because December has been
a bad mood. The teacher wears a tunic
and tells us to state an intention – to plant it
in the deep soil of our bodies which is not
in my toes but the dark corners
of elbows and hips.

The first round is fire –
we must breathe to stoke the belly embers. Nature
burning smells like plastic and dries the tunnels
of my nose. I am good at sitting with discomfort
now that I make it intentional. She gives us
a dried plant: eucalyptus. Take the plant, know it
like a new person – touch and smell and taste …
Do what feels good, she says. Nothing is wrong,
She says. The person next to me rubs it along
their inner thigh as softly as spider’s web – picks
a sprig and tucks it in the strap of their bikini.
In front of me whispers it around their nipple.
I crunch mine in the lock of my knee
and put it down.

Out of the sauna, I leave my towel behind
and lie on the wet dirt under the dark sky.
Whisps of steam like strands of hair; heat
an experience forgotten. I make myself
in the cold bath, hold my breath for three
beats of heart and submerge.

Round two is earth but the herbs scratching
my throat makes every round fire. The teacher
says it is time to disconnect: to be our bodies.
I hold on because it’d be embarrassing
to faint. I well my hands for cold water. Throw
it on my face and let it splash onto my chest,
my lap. I look out the window at an axe chopping
logs into triangles and conjure poems I’ll forget
after the changing room.

We mark the dark midwinter, the season of rest,
with a back massage of red honey, rose water
and Saint John’s Wort. I notice her noticing
my knots. Outside, I rub the grit into this morning’s
razor cut and bleed into the bath. It is the whisk
of dehydrated leaves pattered down my side
and dragged up my back that makes me realise
I miss being touched.

The third round, like a memory, is fire. The sweat
reminds my skin. I tug at my hair but cannot
untangle it from the band. Burnt by wood. Skin
slips skin. Neck stretched long. The teacher opens
the door, invites wafts of air that keep my feet
on the floor but feeds another hissing log. Feel
light as if blood lost. To stay in the body – I must
keep my eyes open. I am not meant to enjoy this
but withstand it.