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2. tile

My body pressed against the floor, I look to the narrow, golden light from the crack under the door

And I imagine the window, past the door, where I would see the sun meeting the horizon

And how it would douse everything around  it in its honeyed glow,

Pouring into the living room,

Dripping along the sofa,

Gilding the flowers on the table,

Pooling right up to the bathroom door


The air in the bathroom is thick with steam and I can only see a few inches in front of me

Peering through the gauzy air at the hairs slicked down to the tile and the mold growing between the grout

The steam presses down and each water droplet is a glass marble resting against my back

When I breathe, my lungs fill with marbles and I cough them up, choking with each desperate attempt to get air

Marbles roll down into the crevices of my body, the space between my arms and breasts, the backs of my ears, in between my fingers

The marbles compact against my body,

Gravity pulling us down faster and faster

My arms and joints are heavy,

Now completely flattened along the tile floor

My arms bend backwards, pulled further and further away from my body

And hairline fractures form on the tiles


I look toward the light below the door, soft and warm

And imagine being washed in it,

A scatter of glitter raining down on me,

Droplets glinting on my skin

My body left gleaming and incandescent


I inhale again and choke on the glass filling my mouth

I hear a crack from my shoulders

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