Porcelain Tub

A prose piece about an antique tub.

House

This house they say is made with gold Dreams of fast cars and fancy clothes But it is small white desolate with old ratty towels hanging on the doors Patterns of flowers once hopeful but no more

An Interpretation

Death A cold sheet, one line you. A street covered with sod horridly even, manicure obsession Lack of robust bean, cup, morning conversation The breeze from the musty hallway

Motivation

Do you remember the first time you tried? The first time you screwed up and someone moved you to fix it. The broken house, the mess you made, your unfinished business,