Mindful Writing 2014 – 18

I lean back, topless, over the edge of the tub with a dry wash cloth over my face. My mother tells me it’s coming, and I kindly ask her not to waterboard me with the white vinegar.

The chill slips over my scalp and splatters into the tub. My nose burns and I crave chips. The iciness comes after.

“I guess I should have heated it up first,” my mother comments.

It takes several pours before my hyper copper hair begins to absorb the vinegar. I shiver to the brink of feeling my teeth chatter, but she assures me the color is coming out.

first to drive
in the fresh snow
I round the corner
too fast—all the possibilities
before the car stops

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