HOLDING ONTO LIFE, BUT LOOSELY

MARCH 29, 2013

a body they all call mine
stands dripping,
wet and naked from head to toe.

the curtain
is pulled aside.

a door, bronze-handled
opens into a short hallway
as bamboo flooring
reflects
dully the golden glow of a shaded lamp.

the hallway unwinds into
another room with:
a couch,
a light hung from the ceiling,
more gold reflected off an empty, tired floor.

taking one small step,
already
my feet are dirtier than they were.

water and soap
drip from a wild clump of hair into
my eye
and so i blink. twice.

but better by far to be here
than a mile beneath the ocean’s waves
or pressed
by tons of earth or reduced to ashes.

(there will be plenty of time for that.)

reaching for a towel,
i watch
my hands touch another conscious moment.