I'm soaked.
Drenched.
Water logged.

There's wrinkly fingers
and prunely toes-
from a wishing well's
water spilling in my head.

The waterway
pulls me down.
The drain - body blocked,
as a river
meets my ocean.

I'm water logged.
Drenched.
Soaked.

Nothing but water.
Bones of Voss bottles,
blood from Icelandic glaciers,
spring sourced
liquid death.

The lonely moth sits perched on the shower wall
Raindrops fog up the mirror quite unconcerned
Shampoo drips and stings my watchful eyes

The lonely moth moves between my lashes onto the faucet
Scruffy loofahs exfoliating my ***** limbs fall to the side
Water pools outside the hair-clogged drain

The lonely moth flutters– gone in a trick of the mind
Hair cream coats dripping, bouncy locks of curls
A fresh towel becomes soaked and softened

She stands in the shower.
Running her wash cloth across
Her body.
the slow rise of *******,
the arch of hips,
the curve of a neck.
The day she's had
Swirls around the drain
Between the space of her toes.
All that's left is the smell of soap.
Against her skin.
Her washcloth is not as white as it was.
She lets out a sigh.
Letting the hot water crash
Against her body.
Ringing it out before 
Soaping up the rag again.
Her body becoming softer.
Erasing every touch, every stare
That isn't her own.
Vigorously scrubbing.
The remnants of soap drip
Down her legs.
I knock on the door before
Poking my head in to check on
Her.
She hangs her head out with a smile.
The smell of soap and water
Glisten off of her light skin.
Before she closes the curtain back,
I ask if she needs help washing her
Back

Mama's big rainbow

umbrella keeps me nice and --


dry in the shower.

     Hawk on a streetlight
taking a poor man's shower
          in the summer rain.

I step in the shower
It feels like it's been hours
Since I turned the faucet on
but the transition makes me pause

I push the curtain to either side,
Making sure it lines the walls,
Spills are something I avoid
Then I can face the waterfall

It surrounds my every fiber
I start to feel like it's a part of me
I connect with my body,
Closing my eyes and remembering

But a loud noise startles me
I hate the anger I feel,
Every sound, crash, clang that's made
It rattles through me

And suddenly I have to face reality,
Reminding myself of who I am
I'm no longer seven or twelve,
I'm an adult in a safe house

The water covers me as I realize I sat down
Sometimes it's easier to find comfort on the ground
I get up and am covered in bubbles
It's nice to zone out and forget my troubles

He called in for a shower after being alone on the streets for a week.

Is that time enough
to get ***** for a shower
   as a man nearly twenty-six
in years.
She could turn him away
like her father’s sister
might have and did.
From time to time.

It all depended on how many times in a week,
month, or year
he would show up without a call.
Without knowing he still existed.

Somehow, his presence and
absence
were a mixed blessing.
His presence was like a merry-go-round
that goes against the earth’s pull.
Like a brazen thorn
stuck into your shoe.
Unpredictable.
Vacuum-like.
******* all the ***** things in.
Taking everything in its sight
and power and making
everything contort
to his reality.
Where he and only he resided.
Would she open the door for him?

What she does know
is that she might risk speaking
in a bright happy voice
of a mother
so gladsome to see her son.
Welcoming him in.
Rather than turning him away
because of his inconvenience.
Grief is inconvenient.
That is one thing she knows.

To be knelt in a shower
Watching crimson mix with water
Some good ol’ fashioned
Pain drain

Bloodletting
How delicious

What is it about a cleansing ritual
That brings
Soot to surface

It’s scar tissue
Meets fresh wounds
Amidst the carnage
A kernel of truth

Cartography
How scrumptious

What is it about toweling off
That removes
Less than we thought

It’s whispered words
Meets silent screams
All this chaos
What does it mean

Decryption
How cathartic

What is it about slipping into jeans
That tucks away the secrets
Folds up the mental maps
Slurps the blood from the floor
And masks us up
For the world to adore

///

“How was your weekend?”

(wait, what’s my line?)

Plasma
A flushed cheek
“Oh…it was fine”
smiles

Merely existing
How divine

///