New Year's Bath
In which I am an unshucked oyster
snuggled into your firm shell.
In which the world known to us
is the white page of bath bathed
in bubbling orange watercolor,
you gripping my goosepimpled skin
the way a small child cups a tulip’s pink body.
In which I clean the house the next day,
hide each lingering happiness
behind your pillow for a bad day.
In your poems, you talk of death
and dying so often that when I clean
in your absence I scare myself.
I remind myself that I do this
out of love and not finality.
I remind myself that you dream
the residue of my warmth
while I ride pre-dawn trains
before you wake.
I remind myself of the bath,
us tucked into one another
like the architect of the thumb pushing
in the grainy window of a sandcastle.
“New Year’s Bath” is a poem I wrote in 2019. It was published in Green Light Literary Journal, which you can read online.