humidity

the bathtub is full and i can hear

this square stream of rushing water

pounding

in my ears or at the mahogany door. it’s been

closed for far too long, and i can’t see

my reflection

isn’t me, and i cannot feel your

chapped lips when you whisper in 

my ear, only translate this sea of loud voices

pounding

into a monotones of squiggles

you can understand

it all, because we memorized the very shape

of these brown-black ants only yesterday so that 

we might blow colored drops of wind

into each other, when we couldn’t stand up

hearts are 

pounding

but 

they can’t be in these broken ribs 

or

this fragile chest

you pummeled 

my memories away. i forgot and

we were broken

fragments of glass

surround this mist that i am behind;

this fog, it comes off

on my fingers like dust when i reach out

and carve an arrow there, in a direction

that doesn’t quite have a name.

and this hole, it is

nothingness where i thought 

there would be me, whole and unbroken.

i fall to the ground, but i am still alive.

and i wonder

if this direction, it is still right