In the bathtub last night,
I thought of how you were
warm last winter. The heater
plinking to life sounded like
mice clattering in their traps,
their pitchforked claws mowing
at glue. I bet that in the fleece
descending over your shoulders,
you didn’t see my gnarled face,
my knotted hands hovering
above my abdomen. I guess
you didn’t think of what I could
bear for you. The water laced
each strand of my hair before
its congregation in the drain.
It’s paranoid but everything
sounds of mice, like the creak
of the faucet as I freeze steam.
I stopped scrubbing at the mirror
in the hopes of finding whatever
lives underneath. She’s the same
beast you caught just before autumn.
Royal Rose 