Light peeks through the stain glass window in front of our small crawl-space attic, creating rainbows on the walls in our living room. I stand at the front door overlooking the sunlit street that
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this shower comes at night, before the heat has sputtered on and the oven hisses gas with dinner—
there is no new dirt for soap to strip away; only distraction for the hands and arms and fingertips
wandering beneath the cascades of steam, breaking soft over bleach stained curtains onto chipped tile floor
arranging myself from patches of fog in the mirror—
eyelid
knot of hair, incisor—
greeting a new face with each ritual
there is no new dirt for soap to strip away; only distraction for the hands and arms and fingertips
wandering beneath the cascades of steam, breaking soft over bleach stained curtains onto chipped tile floor
arranging myself from patches of fog in the mirror—
eyelid
knot of hair, incisor—
greeting a new face with each ritual