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Dave Bonta
To think they were back there
all that time someone said
meaning the half-dozen snakes
of three different species
our bathroom remodeling project displaced
but my own thoughts kept dwelling
on that huge nest of razor blades
in the wall where the mirror had been
We propped up the roof and ripped
the bathroom walls out
keeping the fixtures intact
so that the shower stall
stood fully exposed
to the breeze and blowing rain
for half that summer
Ah
My bathroom is a secure place
With a little window to the world.
A two-way window, to look out
And to look within.
Water runs, chuckling,
Washing away dirt; sins too.
The resident spider sprints
With a cockroach in its mouth.
A gecko peers, scrambling
As I sprinkle a little water at him.
A stage
To enact my fantasies
To practice a speech
To sing a song
To talk to my love
Or imagine making love.
Dark Room.
The bathroom is my dark room.
The blade at my waist.
I slice the skin until I bleed.
And Bleed.
And Bleed.
And Bleed.
My hands shake,
the tears come.
I tell myself how horrible I am.
Horrible daughter.
Horrible lover.
Horrible friend.
Horrible person.
I take the pain and hold onto the thought.
Maybe this punishment,