Monday, January 28, 2013

Kay N. Sanders: "Bath, in House Alone"

The unexpected has happened.
Children gone, husband away,

and I alone in hot wash
of rocking water, pores open
to whatever may come.

A whirr, long whine from aging pipes—
cricket? imprisoned insect?
echo of neighbor's saw
through ground not yet frozen?

I think it is my spirit,
coming home,
pushed away as I push
all who would draw near,
that part of me so long lost

that I fear never to find again,
so long lost that I scarce
remember its being.

I have looked
in quake of overwhelming loss,
in vile wind that assails me daily,
in fire of anger, in acrid smoulder,
in bitter lees of dying flame.

I have looked for you,
spirit of myself.
I hear you now
coming home

in the quiet settling of this house,
in the lap of this hot water,
in this being still. 

"Bath, in House Alone" by Kay N. Sanders. © Kay N. Sanders.

Photography credit: "Feet of Woman Taking a Bath," by Corbis Super RF (originally horizontal, color).


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