Today in the bathroom,
I thought that if I took a cold shower
I would wake myself up
from the dream-turned-nightmare
that is your news.
I thought that if I sat in the empty tub
and let myself drip-dry
I could rinse away the good warmth
of your hands on my skin.
I thought that if I scrubbed myself clean,
raw,
the weak layer of my being would peel off
and reveal the stony, unfeeling strength inside.
I thought that if I washed my hair over and over,
wrung it,
all your memories will wash off and flush down the drain
with my dirty bathwater.
I thought that if I cried in the shower
a la Hollywood,
that soon the credits will start rolling
and it will all just fade to black.
