Bubble Bath
Karen Jean Matsko Hood
There she sat in the bathtub
Full of white bubbles
Dancing their own rhythm.
She took her washcloth
And began to scrub
Her skin fiercely, then
Gently, grabbing more soap
As the layers of bubbles began to fade away.
A deviant strain of scum
Had attacked her body,
Invaded her sacred space,
Began rotting patches
Of her soul, creating
Painful jilts to her heart,
Killing muscle patches
Once alive, beating
To the cadence
Of the frolicking sun.
