The Rose

I only have ten minutes in this sauna
before the heat makes me sick;
therefore, I know, dripping on my towel,
this time I have alone will be quick.
I murmur a prayer, seated in my suit;
but, I can’t find WiFi and the air’s thick.

I remember when silence was as thick
as the creaking heater in the sauna
next door to where I was in my suit,
in the steam room because I was so sick.
I inhaled menthol and then exhaled quick,
the white vapor melding with my towel.

I always hung up my soggy towel
before dipping my toe into the thick,
rumbling hot tub water, swirling quick.
Steam escaped from it, unlike a sauna,
causing me to overheat like I was sick,
as I stretched in clear daylight in my suit.

For years, I dutifully followed suit
and returned to the pool with my towel.
The rhythmic laps never made me feel sick,
building my muscles until they were thick
or so sore that they just needed a sauna.
I don’t know if I ever swam that quick.

Before yoga class, I had to be quick
if I wanted to put my gym shoes on, suit
up in my clothes and sit in the sauna
for at least a few minutes, sans towel.
The door meeting the locker room wasn’t thick,
but it helped me feel more centered, less sick.

Something about these waystations are sick;
because, while the time goes by very quick,
they are all spokes on a turning wheel, thick
with my soul exhaling its daily suit.
Until, I check my watch, grab my towel
and slam the wooden door to the sauna.

I head into the thick until I’m sick
of seeking a sauna to pause real quick:
ten minutes in my suit, on my towel.

This sestina is copyright 2026 by Jessica McLean. File sharing is encouraged.

“If the sauna is just a bath, then Buckingham Palace is just a house.”

— Robert L. Roy, “The Sauna: A Complete Guide to the Construction, Use, and Benefits of the Finnish Bath, 2nd Edition”