The Bath

A bath, a real bath in a real bathtub; I could only be home.  It was only the place I grew up in, but it was often the only place I remember who I was.

I could relax at home.  Here I asked the questions, here I wasn’t responsible.  The tub seemed smaller, the fun of the hot water splashing my feet had diminished.

Could I stay here forever?  My pores opening up as the hot water surrounded my body.  Only at home could I get a real bath.  A lot of love, a lot of respect, a lot of understanding, a lot of living.

Wash away the bullshit.  All the badness encountered since I left this place surfaced and was scrubbed away.  Why was I taught to be so nice to use common sense?

A few tears mixed in with the bath water.  Imperceptible dashes of salinity, the aqueous humor became the only bits of me intermingled with the filth of others I washed away.

Truly, truly I had been the tabula rasa scribbled and scratched on until I was white with only a few fingernail scrapes screeching across my suface.

The world waits.  The drain is open.