Ritual Bath

Half-way up the stairwell he can't hear my words. I repeat but it's no good. "What? What are you complaining about now?"

Leftovers for River, nothing for us. Two books instead of four and she's asleep. I clock out.

I want to write, want a nice glass of wine, maybe live music and smiling people. An hour and a half later I'm still sitting at the desk.

Thirty six minutes and I walk into the living room, say things I can't take back, and head down the long hall to the bath. I scrub, rinse, and swivel the handle. Hot only.

Two lukewarm baths behind me, I measure in my mind and shut off hot. Cold only. Bath salts, oils, test the temp and undress.

A second wet and I know it's too cold. I get in anyway, hoping that it's warmer than I think. Slide down as far as I can, knees exposed. Any way I figure, not warm enough to warm.

I begin to shiver. Too cold now to get out. I gather waves, water over breasts, shriveled nipples, down my arms. Tepid almost feels good because I'm cold from the inside now. Cold from the middle out. So I stay.

Marriage. My hardest challenge.