Glacier Lake / Laurie King-Billman

Rocky peaks
filled with snow clumps,
footprints
of winter fleeing,
beside a glacier lake.

We dove in.
Flat breasts
blurred outlines
of curves to come.

Silver shivers
frozen baptism, in
the rock font of a
mountain cathedral.

No adult eyes watched;
we splashed naked,
limbs numbed as
the sun warmed our heads.

A brush against my bare thighs.
Slimy and sinister it was.
“Something is in here,” I screamed.
The coward of the crowd,
I was the first to swim to shore.

My friends followed,
gasping in delicious terror. We
pulled jeans, T-shirts over wet skin.
Ran, tennis shoes sloshing.

You, the bold one,
looked over your shoulder,
yelled “Catch us if you can”
to all the years that pursued us.