The moist heat from the shower
Has softened the Dove bar of soap
And the ridges I've carved into it
With my fingernail
Remind me of all the things
I've had to give up.
There's childhood- a long, scalloped line
And fitting in- a narrow series of hash marks.
Being outspoken, effortless friendships,
Assuming I'm right...
And you.
You are a long jagged streak with petal-like protrusions.
I'm not naive enough to believe in soul mates anymore, exactly
(That to is a mark)
But the ridges of those I might've loved,
If only circumstances were different
Lay stark and bitter across my memories.
Pressing my palms into my closed eyes,
I see the billowing clouds of brilliance in blackness
Behind my eyelids
And I have to remind myself to breathe.
When one goes, another comes.
This soapy, petal-pale skin
Is not so fragile.
I don't have to let all my hopes
Slip down the drain tonight.
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i love everything about this poem -- i especially was struck by your first and last stanzas. the idea of the marks in the soak remind me of prisoners who make tallies on the wall of how many days they've been in jail...which links to the idea of giving things up. beautiful! and i really love the image of hopes [not] slipping down the drain. simply a lovely poem.
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