sure, a yolk makes sense beyond a folk 
tale. the morning begins with an egg and 
the sun is fat. she opens her mouth and all 
begins anew. but i am not for the black-beaked 
bird nor the maiden, surprised at her loneliness. 
i am not for the eggs, six of gold and the seventh 
of iron, cracking open to make heaven and earth.

i love the older story: the diver, the warm lake 
of black depths, the pregnant girl sliding in like 
i do, raw and tender after sauna, shedding skins, 
milky waters for milky daughters. i am bored 
as girls often are. 

i’d dive, leaving only the sticky 
dandelion crown 

afloat. if you fall off the boat you want in the water, 
my grandfather used to say to children hanging off the bow,
soaking their arms up to elbows, and his grandfather 
used to say: once a maiden dove into the depths and found 
mud. she held onto it and brought it all the way to the 
surface, creating this land and this water. she was bored 
as gods often are.

but sometimes i doubt that even a swan’s neck could be 
dexterous enough: it was the whole earth, moss and all, 
after all. maybe she was a girl, maybe a goldeneye, maybe 
the calf of a whale, metamorphosed through the tales. 
they knew how to sing, and so did ilmatar’s son. they did 
go back, didn’t they, their ancestors retracing their way 
back to the water while we chose dirt and turf. 
but they went back to the first birth.

the beasts’ ancestors had not dreamed of evolution. and yet 
they looked at the water and said: home. that’s what i think of 
when i dive. home. the strangest dream 
i cannot shake off.

[Sai Liuko is a recovering copywriter & future teacher from Helsinki, Finland, where solstices do not go unnoticed. She writes prose in Finnish, poems in English. Her poetry has been published or is forthcoming in 3Elements Literary Review, In the Mood Magazine, Honeyguide Literary Magazine and others. You can find her portfolio at https://sailiuko.carrd.co/]