Renovation

They are

gutting

our bathroom,

hauling out the tub where

I bathed you both

for years,

watched with eagle eyes so you

might not

slip under,

made mohawks in your hair from

white foam,

moved toy dinosaur

across ledge

growling, “rawr, rawr, rawr,”

soaked my sleeves to my

elbows.

They are gutting our bathroom,

trashing the sink where

I taught you to brush and

floss, running waxed string through

your teeth

like

time,

ripping up the floor

to put new Italian tile down,

white squares with

pretty blue-black swirls that

I only just noticed look like

fallopian tubes.

They are gutting our bathroom,

hauling out the tub

through your open bedroom window

for ease.

They are tearing down the walls,

yanking toilets,

closing up the leaky skylight,

the whole house trembling with

destruction.

There goes the tub,

the sink,

the toilet,

out through the open

window

in your bedroom.

Breathe.

(you were already gone).

Image, author’s own

____

Gae is the author of several novels for readers of all ages, though shelved as tween and young adult. You can read more about her and her books at gaepolisner.com