slipping

maia nuñez | Fall 2021

I couldn’t help but pity the saleslady, 
The way you kept pestering her with questions. 
You attempted to apologize for your inquiries, 
Mistaking curiosity for disruption. 
The bars weren’t labeled, so you didn’t know what kind of soap you were picking up
In your defense 

You hate lavender scented things, 
Too sterile. You like to hold onto the warmer 
More apologetic oat and honey-scented 
Bars of glycerine, things that melt 
Easily. 

“She hates me,” you laugh 
With a laugh that melts 
Like the soapy talisman, you’ll choose 
To try to get the dirt off. 
To wash it all away 
Scrubbing towards sanctity 

My tea tree bar is a fierce green, 
I love cautiously, frightened, astringent. 
Peroxide on a paper cut. 
You’re a little milkier, more bent on 
Comfort, but soap melts 
And you can only laugh and 
Smile while you slip 
With the grace and spirit of a child 
And I want to cry 
For your intense desire to 
Give yourself up. 

How do you protect what 
Should rid you of filth? 
Disappears on the 1 Train, 
Laughing 
Cause she’s still not sure what kind of soap she bought.