Shower/Sacred Space
a. the shower is the purest place
that you conceptualize as a
young child/ you bathe with
a cousin, lather each others’
hair with walmart soap, smear
shaving cream into letters
across the walls, force special
bath-only barbies to play
scuba divers/ your grandfather
considerately pats you down
with costco towels
b. you nearly shatter your left
arm at ten / the doctors surround
your meager bones to your bicep
and your mother must shower you
every other day / the sheer shame
of her gracing your breast buds
I’m trying to be quick / you know
c. a fistful of your hair, your red
cheeks flat against the porcelain
an essential virgin still/ a shadow:
shh, stop whining. it’s fine.
d. during your trauma week, your
wife takes all the showers with
you/ she quietly washes the
teal dye from your hair/ she
speaks softly I know, we’re
almost done/ she tries her best
to reclaim your sacred hollow
Sara Sage is a twenty-something, experienced writer who has been composing literature since she could hold a crayon. She graduated from Hollins University in 2018 with a Bachelor's in English and subsequently has been published twenty times in literary journals across the country. She believes in the power of elevating our stories through sharing the most tragic parts of ourselves.