E.Y.

Clean

By E.Y.

I soak under the cascade of the moon,

bathing under its soft light—

wanting, waiting- to become clean

as all my sins, worries, and woes—slowly, but surely—bubble

away, away, away. Warming, in a glow

that is not its own, but a red-hot reflection, cooled into cream.

The smell of a sugar-crushed cream

floods my senses, drawing from the moon

and its gentle light,

a dream, which emits gentle beams, to clean,

leaving my skin with a soft sheen. The bubbles,

floating, popping, ceasing to exist anymore—I glow.

I know I’m new because of my glow

I stand in the pool of cream

drenched with sweat of the moon

who wraps me in a bundle of light,

but forces me to put in the work, to clean

the space around me, nudging myself out of my bubble

and my mistakes. I blew away in a bubble

and now they leave me, casting a glow

over my bed covered with sheets coloured cream,

under the watch of the moon.

Protected by its light.

Am I finally clean?

What is to be clean?

Is it to feel the suds and the water’s bubbles?

Is it to step out of the shower with an all-new glow?

Is it to coat every inch of skin in ultra-moisturizing cream?

Or is it to gaze up with blurred vision, crying at the moon,

praying for repentance under its light.

My once heavy burdens lifted, my yoke now light

I think, I feel, I know I am clean

because outside of this bubble

I think, I feel, I know there is a glow

calling me in, with a voice smooth as silkened cream—

to bathe under the light of the moon.

Author’s Note: This [sestina] poem was the product of an image from my brain- a relieving bath under the light of the moon.