bathtub
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I write a lot of my poems from my bathtub floor
Soaking up sadness til the water gets cold
Til my silence grows old
Til my tears meet the water
And the stanzas are told
I remember when my grandmother used to bathe me in her pink granite 90s bathtub
She would pick me up a cup, laced with BPA, and fill it with lukewarm water
Never too hot, for it might harm the child
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I can't remember a time when it was not normal to live in my head this way. To sit on the floor of the bathtub and be content with not washing up or being active in anything in particular. This was my Nirvana.
I let myself cry in the tub
When the water is hot
So I can pretend
That they're not tears
Just water for bathing
