Poem: Cleansing
Interminable showers, laced with lye
Astringents cascading down fair skin turned pink
By heat and scrubbing —
The forceful scouring that a wok gets after an overlong stir-fry.
No amount of water
Or soap
Or solvent
Can remove the stain
Left behind like a the penumbra of light produced by an explosion.
Choices were made (they said, most passively)
And the consequences remain,
Yawning holes where goodness once grew.