I spent four hours on my knees
scrubbing bathroom tiles
working though anxiety
shining and polishing and ignoring the heat of my burning bridges
and scalding the tips of my toes with bleach

and finally after all my toil the second floor bathroom was clean -
the blues and greens and chromes and golds clear and shining.

It seemed to me, as I fell on the couch in brief respite,
the grime had soaked through my fingers and into my bloodstream
and no matter how hard I scrubbed I couldn't polish my insides.

Yet I rose, to scrub once more.