Daily I bathe in the water of my tears
But a ring of black grief stains the white porcelain     enamel
Of a clawfoot tub  

Lathering my loofah with bamboo powder
I scrub away the cluster of dead skin
Micro tears    raw to the touch  

The mustiness of sorrow wafts from my body
Lingers in the air
I breathe it
Eyes itch    head throbs   
Shortness of breath  

A favorite song played on the radio
The remembrance of a shared meal
A familiar scent spritzed on the nape of the neck
Each causes a flare     triggers  

A decongestant placed on the tongue
Swallowed with a sip of water
Does not relieve the pressure  

A soak in tepid bath water
Will not wash away
The anguish of loss      residue  

I cannot exfoliate grief  

So I must learn to manage its symptoms
Like any unpredictable outbreak