Reading in the Bathroom
By Joshua Michael Stewart

Jeans scrunched around her ankles,

a chill climbing her spine, the chirpy

chirp-chirp at the birdfeeder,

and the sound of sunlight painting

a venetian blind on the floor,

she’s trying not to rush through the last

poem, unaware of her held breath,

the red spots her elbows press

into her thighs. She licks the language

clean off the page. Her voice hums

with bees making honey in her throat.

Her tongue wants to samba once more

before the bus squeals at the end

of the driveway, the stomping assault

begins on the brittle porch steps,

and the squeak of the screen door

brings the day’s blessing to a halt

with life’s squawking, little demands.

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