I brush my teeth slowly.
I taste the mint that lingers.
I wonder if my breath is kind
enough for the quiet world around me.
I wash my face and feel the water
run down my cheeks.
I imagine it carrying away the small doubts,
the crooked thoughts.
I hope my skin smells fresh.
I hope it looks soft in the light.
I turn my hair in my fingers,
wonder if it obeys me,
if texture or relaxer would make a difference,
but I leave it as it is,
honest and unadorned.
I tidy the room,
straighten pillows,
slide the chairs into their places.
I think of someone noticing,
or not.
I think of the rhythm of my day,
the small choices that make me who I am.
I remember the guitar,
the notes spilling into empty rooms,
the way they felt like prayers,
like pieces of myself scattered into the world.
I whisper my own prayers now:
make me beautiful,
make me enough,
make me desirable in ways I cannot measure.
I lie down,
pull the covers close,
close my eyes and hope
hope that the quiet life I live
has space for someone else,
somewhere, sometime, in a way that fits.
Comments (2)