Bathrooms became sanctuary in high school;
with tear stained countertops,
gossip soaked walls.
Even the constipated souls
had motion.
Pressing their hands against the ceramic demilune sinks
they would let their tears flow like water through the faucet,
until they found comfort in the arms of another.
Hours spent before, between and after classes
they found comfort and friends
in the conversation that flowed in the bathroom.
Checking themselves over and over again
with the reassuring voices, “you look great” from behind.
Some walk in and hide behind the door of the lavatory stalls,
flushing away sadness,
and washing on a smile on to their face.
Like the granite in the slabs, the memories made
will will be hard to wear off.
The memories made through raw conversation in the bathroom
