Necessary Ritual

Think past stones―

to rivers, folded passages,

fade the loud vacancy

to a dream of heat and softness.

Press a warm one to your face,

inhale until you know

the way cotton smells

mixed with rain-soaked hair.

Each hushed and stacked,

ready to be grabbed,

wrapped at the drop of a wet hat,

or step from a morning bath ―

catch wild domestic drips

from a common kitchen sink.

tk/April 2013 

Thanks to the talented R.A.D. Stainforth for reading this poem. 

Woman With a Towel, 1898, Edgar Degas

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