Pink Lines
Francesca Rainosek
The turquoise-colored bathwater
matched her mermaid hair—
a twinge of cotton candy sweetness
to drown out the melancholy.
The forgiving herbs and flowers
sank slowly through the medium,
and fell upon the porcelain bottom
of the basin.
Lavender,
raspberry leaf,
chamomile,
lemon balm,
and coarse sea salt.
The water foamed
and she went under.
Seeing pink astilbe in her
moon-induced dreams,
the frankincense oil floated
atop the water with unknotted hair.
“Twenty-three days . . .
Twenty-four days . . .
Twenty-six days . . .”
Waxing in the steeping bath,
she floated in a space much too small
for her jelly limbs.
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