when she was sick,
or sometimes when
she got her period,
she would lay in the
bathtub.
she would ask me
to come and talk
with her while
she did this,
and I would.
we would talk about
everything and nothing,
all the while
I would look at her and
marvel.
her skin is the color of milk,
mottled with freckles
like droplets of honey.
and, there were places that were pink,
of course
but I was always fascinated,
at these moments,
with her toes, flushed with blood
from the warmth of the water.
with those toes she can flip the drain,
letting out water,
work the faucet,
adding just a little more hot,
they would crinkle and pop
as she flexed them,
working the drain a final time,
she stands, closes the curtain,
starts the shower.
that’s my cue.
I stand, stretch and yawn,
feeling more sated somehow
now than when we have ***,
I make my way to
the linen closet,
and return faithfully
to my porcelain perch
with a towel.
*
-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublications; 2016
Sometimes the music in my head is made by a memory.