We're always living
one
inch
from
disaster.
This is the thought that comes to me
in the shower
while the notch-too-hot water
reddens the skin
on the back of my neck--hurts
so good.
The thought
is like
a slap,
a clap,
something loud and startling
right in my face.
I widen my eyes
at the white shower wall
in front of me,
at the beads of water
sticking,
dripping,
tears sliding down,
so obvious:
The edge is always right
here.
We're toeing the
line.
Even in our
sleep.
I swallow once,
twice--
and panic sinks
into the horizon
where shadows burn
with the heat of the rising sun.
