I allow the beads of sweat to accumulate
on the meshwork that is my hair,
like liquid pearls trekking jet black fibers.
As the first light of the day cast slanted
forms on the bathroom tiles, I move my
eyes to the lone cadaver in the corner,
punitive and bleaching under the sun, its
frail structure terrifying me. I turn away.
The cold splash of water make me
hesitant to think that while my forehead
is made cool by sweat, the rest of me is
on fire. My ragged breathing rips through
the quiet, intervening whatever invisible
resurrection is taking place beside the
toilet. My palm against the sink relaxes
me. Later I shall start on my chores.
There are many of them today.
