|August Night to be Remembered in January|
Drops of bathwater,
browned by her dirt
coated skin, splatter against
the mauve -colored tiled walls,
the shining mirror new and too large.
A spider, not a daddy long legs,
scares her, but the legs are curled.
His body is against the side of the open
window, and the heavy August night
saturates her skin as she dries.
The towel is a plush wine color; she smiles,
remembering the flush of her mother's skin
after she sips merlot (two glasses), while
enjoying a restaurant dinner. Her father
will visit later this day, and he will compliment
her blonde curls, darkened like soot on the walls
of the chimney in winter, when the plushness
of bath towels wrap around and around and
around and around-rings of the moons of Saturn.
Brook winding around the house drains into the
river that sparkles like the diamonds punched into
her ears. Like cleanliness.
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