Oct/Nov 2004 Poetry Special Feature

Hot Water

by Andrea Jazwiecki

Hot Water

She slips into the shower
and rinses the day
from sunburned skin.

Marriage is new, and means moments
of taming time and family,
rhubarb in pies and partnerships,
and guarding the pulse of home
and her heart.

The frontier was disguised in lace.
The grit of the new life uncovered,
trapped in her teeth,
after the first cut and taste of wedding cake.

She pools water on the tile floor,
dirty with her duties,
and allows it to evaporate away.
She is bound for the bedroom
to loot through laundry,
and look for a slice of herself.


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