Ablutophobia

By Daniel Roca

Long ropes of water hung off my face
and rivulets slithered down my sternum
and down my sucked ribs
and down across my torso
and along my thighs
and spilled out through the gap
between my toes
toward the abyssal drain

I shut my eyes and leaned — forehead to the tile —
inclined to imagine myself falling upward through
a rain cloud or downward — headfirst — into a sea

As it was, I opened my eyes and saw the daylight smashing through the narrow frosted glass window above my head.
Cold and blinding, pulling at me
from beneath my eyes
behind my pupils
my retinae
my cornea

The polished white tile underneath my feet
tipped me backward out the edge of the tub.
Curtain rings failing
popping one by one under my grip

Head against the white porcelain
bones against the white tile
cracked and broken islands pooled in burgundy
sun crashing through the narrow frosted glass window
a rhombus snailing down the side of my face
carrying the day along its back

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