I’m Turning Thirty
A side glance in the bathroom mirror,
then a pulling, a new weight, carries me down
into a glory of soap and mass
I love to lie, my back against the porcelain tub,
raisined pink appendages graze a peachy happy trail
and travel down a bulbous tummy
as happy bubbles, free of earthly capture, dance-
to the surface and-
pop
pop
pop.
Soap film like taffy pulled on a belt, pink and soft
stretch and change its mucus shape
around my aging skin,
I form a phoenix with my finger, tracing feathers from the pink film-
it separates delicately, dancing away from my touch,
somehow-
it takes a life of its own, growing a pair of unmatching bubbled wings,
then a crisp white beak
that twists into a spiral and the bird evaporates.
When I rise from the pink and cut through the steamed air
the mirror is fogged with white,
and I see a whisp of my reddened self,
newly formed and refreshed,
stepping out of the porcelain tub.
On December 20th I’ll be turning thirty. It’s supposed to be a disappointment or a closing of a chapter. But I feel nothing but refreshed. I feel like I’m only just starting to grasp the person I’m becoming. And I’m so excited to continue to get to know her.
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