Member-only story
Above and below
My wife and I put in a new bathroom
built of stone slabs, tree’d boxes, plumbed by hand,
planned and perfected with money more than
most — a planet where buckets still straddle
far too many shoulders back and forth from
a levered well, while my hot water pulls
shale from sand, and clean bowls fill a fetid
seidel running over. I’m not guilty
but I’m puzzled like a beaming child slapped
on the face for the first time by a hand
that only held love. What unwritten rule
of all kind requires two worlds? Why always
two worlds; in each book, house, and head, every
forest and mountain ledge? We might trample
each other in mindless splendor, or spend
our days hairless, sweeping the path with horse
mane brushes following the monks on their
lifelong journey, stopping each foot to bow
our head, crown to ground, watering each step
with grease fingerprints and salted wishes.
© Trapper Markelz 2021
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