i don't think i've taken a bath in at least 2 years. 

there was a time
where my whole body fit neatly 
in my parent's tub.
i would close my eyes 
& let myself sink,
the tip of my nose peering out from the surface. 
i was a hippo. i was a rotting log.
no where i live 
has a place to hold water. 
the drain in this house 
is hungry & who am i to stop it?
besides, i'd turn into a sponge 
if i soaked there. fingers 
becoming sweet prunes. 
my hands wrinkle quickly. 
after only a few minutes i look like geography. 
i want to take a bath.
it's supposed to be relaxing.
i cup my hands full of hot water
& i pretend i am holding myself a bath.
there is an endless flow of mes holding mes.
whenever i picture myself bathing
i have long brown hair.
my hair is short now. the side are buzzed down
& the water doesn't feel as nice
as it did when i was a girl.
there are so many vessels in any given city.
when it rains i begin to learn where
water collects in the streets.
shallow bath tubs. i got out 
with my shampoo & my conditioner
& i try to find one large enough 
but never succeed.
this winter has been too warm & too cold.
i don't want a bath tub full of snow.
i take showers which are a kind of rain
& also a mark of adulthood. 
needing to summon a cloud to be clean from the day.
i think i could teach my bath tub to be deeper
i could tell it about the ocean not far away. 
holding my breath i pretend 
the whole house is underwater.
i am sitting in the tub. my dad has 
a plastic cup he's filling with water
& pouring over my head. he's gripping
the side of the tub. my skin 
is soft & new. do i want someone
to wash me like this?
no, not at all. i guess i'm just missing
my smallness. where did it go
& what am i left with now?
i turn to face the shower head.
water across my mouth, gentle on my eyelids.
i am so lucky for all this water to have arrived. 
my bare body surrounds me. 
mist envelops the room 
with all my own ghosts.
the bath tub below me gulps down the water
as it comes.