Mrs. Dali Takes a Bath
Gala looks to her left
and finds her (par)amour’s hand
absent. How can it be?
She turns her head further
and sees the slope of the bathtub
against her back. The water
trembles like a blanket
as she sighs, rubbing her shoulder
with her own thumb instead.
Will he come to dinner tonight?
Or has he discovered
the sag in her breasts, her imminent
old-ladyness? She runs her palms
over her nipples, tries to recall
kissing the forehead of a little girl
she once suckled, and can’t. Did it
never happen, or has the memory
merely bubbled away, away
in a champagne of oblivion?
She hugs the latter idea to her biceps
and slides lower into the water.
she pictures herself
basking in the nearby Mediterranean,
foam and all, while a younger, clean-
shaven Salvador throws in rose petals
from the shore. Grain by grain,
her childhood slips from beneath
her feet, and she begins to follow it
out to sea, trailing behind her
the hair she has started to count
in strands instead of locks.
Gala glances at the bathroom door,
then caresses each thought
to be washed away one more time
when she pulls out the plug
and rises from the tub.
Salvador is peering
through the keyhole.
In his vision, he juggles
Gala’s heavenly bodies.
Katherine Huang, who often goes by Kathy, is a graduate student in genomics and computational biology at UPenn. Her work has appeared in Rattle (Ekphrastic Challenge) and The Oakland Review. When not writing or sciencing, she enjoys dancing and taking naps.
The Ekphrastic Review
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