bubble bath 

someone told me i should try to relax.
a massage therapist touched my back
& asked if i was made of stone.
i am in fact, but so is everyone.
my mother was a shard of amethyst 
& my father was & was was was.
i should self-care more often so this  
should be a start. a soup bowl
of bubbles. i'm going to eat 
lavender one little grain at a time.
i'm going to teach my blood to float away.
have you ever clipped your finger nails
in the dead of night? it feels like
making a sacrifice. i would make
any sacrifice possible if my body
would treat me like even just as a tenant.
instead, it fights me. 
all the door knobs in the world
are not enough. i collect them
in a side closet. salt jars.
three metal spoons. i miss everything
but especially the presence 
of shoulders. nudge me. how should i prepare
for the winter? more bubble baths.
more lotion. swaddle myself in lotion
& wait to reveal my whole new skin
glimmering & pink. what i really need
is a bassinette to fill with empty glass bottles.
here is where i'll be a good infant.
love me, me this helpless bird. 
i flit from window to window:
a new born ghost. no foot prints.
no limbs-- just a fearful darting.
a minnow thrives in each bubble.
sweet honey. sweet floral clean.
washing my feet in a half-inch of water.
i don't ever scrub my knees. 
is there anyone who'd like to keep vigil
over me. wake me up every 13 minutes
& ask if i am living? no, that's okay.
this is what alarms are for.
most days everything in my life
is an alarm. even people i love.
will you alarm me awake soon?
the bubbles form doorways
i walk through. the cellar is stuffed
with sponges. will you
take care of me tonight?
just one night. 

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