Aftermath

You had the last word – branded me with it.
Ran myself a bath to remove your mark
and made sure steam pencilled out the mirror.

I slid into the grey water to stew.
But it was too hot - almost volcanic.
My knees rose, red islands. I was on fire.

The plan failed. Finally bored with burning,
I pulled the plug. Sweet, certain gravity;
a tornado tangoed over the hole.

Water rushed to it – an escaping sea
drawn in by the bitter, heart-broken moon.
The warmth withdrew. Left me beached, stranded;

the dry, shrivelled whale giving her swan song.
Shivering, I curled up like a foetus –
surprised with the perfect fit; stark bath-womb.

Stayed there, waiting for the numbness to leave.
That – or my sister and the soft, hot hands
of a towel, telling me it’s OK.