The cool tile stones held my heaviness.
Gently, firmly, they reminded me:
I’m still here.
One rectangle was the mother,
One was the teacher,
The one to the right was the scholar,
That one there was the spouse.
But I couldn’t recall the name for fine, gritty paste in between.
What was in there?
What was it made of again?
My throat tightened and I did not let the hot tears escape.
I did not know.
I pressed start on the machine
And listened to the whir-swish
Took one final breath of bitter soapy air
And stepped back into my life.
When the house was quiet,
And I could hear my thoughts
I dared to ask myself again:
What’s that stuff in between?
Wife, mother, friend
Creative, intellectual
Teacher.
But also:
Human, skin, bones
Blood, soul
Me.
