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.