douse

on my back,
in a bubble bath.
i ease my head,
make-up, earrings, curls
and all, back.
back, back, back.
the water fizzes from
the nape of my neck to
the root of each
eyebrow follicle.
head under water,
only to my eyes.
i take deep breaths.
i stare into the heat
and bubbles, wishing
the images would sting
away in the steam.
liquid pain is more pleasant
than a photographic memory,
i think.
and so, i switch positions in
an unsophisticated splash.
on elbows, i wait
as the waves
recollect themselves.
i think of the best way to
mimic their resolve.
i submerge my upper arms,
crouching awkwardly.
i inhale a breath, purse chapped lips,
and tighten my eyelids
simultaneously.
chin on steepled fingers,
i allow my elbows to slip apart and up.
like a drowning butterfly,
my whole being is soaked.
i follow my thoughts only as far
as my weak lung capacity.
at this boundary, memories bubble.
they are captured air rushing
from an open mouth.
my throat does the
antithesis of guzzling.
quickly it empties tiny
pockets of thought.
memories of you
are pop-popping.
bubbles dispersing
into a thick fence of
fine hair. and instead of
vanishing they become
thousands of comforts,
caressing my hair.