Kathryn ‘Millie’ Millington
Early morning. I’m in the hotel hot tub, alone.
The crows hack, the blackbirds sing back,
Louder, sweeter, it soars above the water’s roar.
I lie on my stomach, balanced above
breaking bubbles, I do a body scan,
as I have learnt to nowadays. The bubbles are
Kissing me everywhere. Between my
legs, tickling my breasts. Bubbles ring
my belly button, wait for permission, then go
inside. Bubbles foam my blood, travel into my
womb, tickle the undersides of toenails.
Every part of me is beautiful and useful. And sings.
Even my arms balanced over the infinity edge,
Have bubbles travelling down their ballast.
I have learnt to anchor myself nowadays.
Later, back inside, I wait by the pool steps for an old lady
To swim by. She looks like my grandma with her high necked
swimsuit, steel hair, singing of fierce pride.
'That’ll be cold after the hot tub' she smiles.
I answer back by jumping in.
I am all sensation again.
Stinging, breath-taking, wonderful.
A different kind of buoyancy. We laugh,
she launches first, her waves flowing
Backwards, merging with my incoming tide.
In the changing room I stare at
My baked pink body.
Beautiful.
I put my bikini in my pocket.
Snuggle into my hotel robe.
Stroll back naked.
I chant to the rhythm of my bare feet
on the carpet. I will have a different family,
I’ll love them without shame.
I can’t raise children,
So I’ll raise words instead.
I will.
Yes.
