let the bathtub overflow with hot water and quilt pieces. let the grit of everyday settle to sandbar. let the soap get lost in love letters. soak out their lying blue blood. let the salt of the tears she was saving and the sweat she used up scour her skin like the tough love of black teachers. let porcelain become slate against her back.
she doesn’t care.
let it seep into her hair with the whispered blood of moontime. let her hold her breath for now, submerge for evidence, eureka. let her sink into the sum of wet mosaic over brown. immersed in the material of what? what now?2
2 immersed in the material “A Hateful Passion, a Lost Love,” 100.