, , , , , , ,

It was in the desert
that he finally caught her,
alone, in her bathtub,
the gypsy surrounded by
cold bubbles.

She startled as his form
shadowed the noon hot sun,
his beard bleached with forever
trailing to the ground.
“Do not be afraid.  Relax,
I will bring you more water. ”
She closed her eyes,
as he poured the fresh draught,
smelling of tea tree.
Looking over the porcelain lip,
she smelled,  and saw new
lemon grass patching the barrenness.
“What?  Who? ” “Hush,  relax,
close your eyes,  feel the water.”
She did, and felt the tingling,
her skin,  revitalizing.,
body dissolving,  precipitating,
his hand in her water,
starting at her feet(?), the wave
sending a pulse through her,
bringing the tears
memories mingled,  diluting:
Father’s dementia,  the instability
ripping within, and out to the family,
Mother’s infidelity,  crashing on the shore,
Living(?) with grandparents,  undesired,
involuntary invisibility,
pushing even her brother away,
her body into a flesh consuming fog.

He drew his hand
down the length,
and out again.

She began to come out of solution,
coalescencing her thoughts,
collecting her body.
“Leave all those trinkets behind,
my dear, you need them
no more.”

He reaches his water
wrinkled hand for
the chain and pulls.
The bubbles drain away,
sponged by the once desert.

He takes her
by the hand, pulling
up her beauty.
“You are reborn,  my sister,
Fare thee well.”

He takes up his beard,
walking through her oasis,
and away.

She glances at the tub,
(It was a heavy old thing) .
She walks away,
now burdenless, straighter,
flowers flowing her footsteps.

(It’s open link night over at dVerse, come on by…)