In the facecloth
parcel up the little cry. Let it
well with the suds.
With your fingers, with what is left,
crunch up the crystals from the soap dish.
Rub such salt
against forearm, shoulder,
shin and knee skin;
the rough grains of today.
In the giant bowl of liquid,
soak off the dead lees.
This could be the basin
that dissolves sharp edges.
With poetry above and life advice below, it’s two for one in this post:
“When it’s been one of those days, the best thing left to do is sometimes to have a little cry in the bath. Let the taps run. Slough it off with the bath salt. Parcel up the little cry.
Then dry yourself off and have some cocoa, honey with milk or soya with cinnamon.”
At some other point, I must write an essayette about the bath I had the day after my dad died, Frida Kahlo’s bath painting and the metaphorical salve of bathing. Today, tea and lesson prep calls.
In the Ocean: a year of poetry
Emily’s Poems for Modern Boys
Shining in Brightness: Selected Poems, 1999 – 2012