Water in the Wood

Part 2

In the bath, I feel a whirlpool gather, as I pull the bathroom stopper and think

how much water can I drink?

And the whirlpool

sucks     on my fingertips, pulls at the wrinkles (there

they’re) like miniature brains with

hillocks and valleys, these mindless minds always

press and


and always

demand and always


Teach me please the secret to spill like water down a drain,

breath in my mouth kissing the surface, lips letting bubbles escape

calm and then

searing chlorine, salt rushing to my lungs and brain,

the overflow in spurts and chokes,

and out my eyes again

Teach me please to dissolve skin, how much                                 lye          does it take?

All my fat thighs do is sink – but still they remain,

Still I can feel my fat thighs sink, stick with water, slide with soap –

into cold white porcelain

a big brown stain and remain,

for                 (what)


I’ll measure forever
by  time condensation                   takes                     on glass to fade
to reveal my face – by time it takes to    make myself a shape in reflecshun that

I can bear to face

Part 1

                              A half an hour later
Nothing much has changed

(a-tisket, a-tasket,

a girl inside a casket

a shower head spinning water
wheels inside a broken                                           basket)

a whirlpool leeched its way from the tub into her fingers, nose and hair
made a home inside her temples, and all the straw and stuffing
goes flying from the beating, roaring steady rhythm; this

clever cruel whirlpool                      singing a stormy refrain

A straw-lined flimsy basket

for a fraulein’s thoughtless thoughts

turns to wet and soggy hay

dams have burst.

will she drown. wish she drown.
wish she sink. Wishy
washy silence and
snark. Wish she dissolve to foam but she’s no mermaid given legs,
claw away the roses, bleed on her thorns and underneath,

she’s just skin and dirt
she’s just skin and dirt

Part 3

I marvel at the water      weight she’s been carrying for months;

You can see it in her thighs, and in the bags beneath her eyes

The reflecshun fills her end of the bathroom, water dripping from her lips and nose

Her eyelids, paper thin and blue with lack of sleep

are shut and possibly now emptying

I want to see her open cold, dead eyes empty of the sea.

I wait to feel her drown

please just drown.

Part 4

I am sorry.

I am sorry.

I didn’t know how or when I –

but if I-

since I –

I am sorry.

(I never guessed the reason behind the silence and the snark)

I am sorry.

There are no other words at all, and these perhaps have lost their worth.

And I have left to let you breathe, friend(?)

and to run from silences I cannot read

and would have done so sooner had I known

my toxic little fingers had been worming holes into your marrow

and planting seeds of sorrow.

Part 5

a-tisket, a-tasket,

a girl inside a casket,

a rotten wooden box

for a little wooden girl

and her rotten wooden thoughts

This entry was posted in Mental Health, poetry, Thoughts on Life and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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