Half a bar of pale pink soap slowly flakes
along me at the bottom of the tub.
I am sprawled in the northernmost corner
thinking of fresh bagels and lox.
I lower my head into the bathwater
until only my nose remains dry.
What might Drew think if he walked in then
to find a lone, fleshy triangle
quietly floating on the water’s surface
as if abandoned accidentally by someone in a hurry?
I laugh, watch as bubbles gush upwards
from my mouth, dissipating in delicate whimpers.
What might it be like to live only for a moment
born from the laughter of a silly woman?
