by Camilla Jean
There are things I allow myself,
like sleeping on the very fresh sheets
in the daytime,
with the wind blowing the bedroom curtain
to the side.
Or taking peach after ripe peach
from the fruit bin,
because they were my idea to buy.
Or sitting far up in the tub,
with the very warm water
my bent knees,
and cupping my hands
and calling aloud:
“Does anybody want to come and visit me?”