Brazilian Snow Plant
Razor blades are hidden in a bar of soap
That is resting on a yellow countertop,
In a damp bathroom.
The sting of scalding bath water
Is righteous and welcome.
It is pink flesh and peppermint.
As her body sinks,
she recalls last year’s late winter.
The rosemary oil and rough touch.
The mole on her breast,
And the air that haunted her cheap flat.
Her toes curl from the fantasy of her younger self.
A release that ushers in distaste.
But lingering for those solemn seconds
Is the memory of a lilac ceiling,
That washed away with the water.