The Bathroom space

I am in it.

Am I drowning beneath it – or above it?

They say I am resting.

I see railway tracks.

Rain keeps falling.

Pouring.

 

Is this supposed to be a cleansing?

 

I walk toward the tracks - straight ahead.

I have known this place since I hovered above the strawberry patch.

Or rather, since my grandmother’s hands held me above the reddening signal lights.

I ate them. 

They tasted good. 

Like a derailed body - body - mine.

The derailed train does not trouble me.

 I am losing my hair - it falls downward.

 

    T u r n

                i

                  n

                g

 

        around.

 

I want an exit and black words on canvas.

 Is this the end?

 A full stop.

Right now I’m climbing into the bathtub. I don’t want my skin to get wet, so I unzip it like a coat. It will hang on the hook.

 

Is there a catch?

 

Maybe, in the end, yours will be hanging there too ——.