365 Poems: 21 – Rise Above (Rough First Draft)
I didn’t think I’d get this far today.
Twenty minutes ago, the idea
of brushing my teeth was ridiculous.
My dry flannel has taken on
the curved shape of the side of the bath,
and is rough as coral in my hands.
I soak it for five minutes
and breathe into the mirror.
Outside, the moon is still blue.
I can see it in thin sections
through the slightly upturned blinds.
At the top of the stairs, I’m concerned
with the sporadic beating of my heart,
like it’s trying to figure out
what it’s purpose is.
I haven’t been downstairs in days.
Post lied piled on the mat.
Some has shrugged itself under,
where the carpet has started to come loose.
It’s not like we can plan our lives.
It’s not like we can plan
if we’re going to fuck up again at Christmas.
When I was a child, I liked to hide
under the bed. It was beautiful under there,
empty perfume bottles, little ones from the Body Shop,
smell of strong mustard and vanilla pods.
I stopped going under there
when I grew tall and started daydreaming
about wild, sexual encounters
The stairs take sixty minutes.
At the bottom, the sun is up
I haven’t let it in for a while,
and it’s warmer than I remember.