A Clean Sink is Necessary

I can’t get the stain

From my hands

Scalding, castile mornings

Bleach and razor blades

Sloughing the scale from

Flaking, disintegrating fingers

Clogged drain, mold and hair

Alcohol drips with purpose

Down the leading edge

Of your grandfather’s

Antique barber’s shears

Ceremoniously honed

For such an occasion

Nails, one, two, another

Meticulously torn

From the cuticle, bleeding

Next, the fingers are easily

Cut, what’s left, removed

Walls painted, room filled

Adorned with sickness

The cleansing requires depth

And the process unforgiving

Until forgiveness is found

Among the scattered

Remnants of exposure

The stain spreads, up the arm

Past the elbow, shoulders

Brittle, greasy hair, wired

The stain shrouds the scalp

Clumps, tufts fall, decorating

The porcelain beneath sticky feet

Toes spread to collect the offering

It’s better this way

Or at least necessary, to unravel

Shine some light on what sleeps

At the core of all this

Before the hands grow back

And the stain returns

62 comments

  1. An incredibly poetic conclusion to your intriguing awaking poem…
    “It’s better this way
    Or at least necessary, to unravel
    Shine some light on what sleeps
    At the core of all this
    Before the hands grow back
    And the stain returns

    Liked by 1 person

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