A love letter to the bathroom floor. The under appreciated, reliable friend we see everyday
Blue, white, tan tiles of porcelain,
soak up the grime of curtains left open,
of sinks left on, towels left sodden.
O the forgotten floor, given no glory,
yet you are used every day,
you see every person of the house.
No sun smiles upon you,
no window lets you breathe,
only the wooden floor of the hall reaches,
a gentle kiss at your doorway.
O how cool you are under my bare skin,
yet warm when the door closes
and I bare my soul to you.
You’ve cradled my knees
when I’m sick and weak,
Became a bed when I curled up in pain.
O the passage of time is held in your grout,
scuffs from shoes and dirt,
marks from journeys beyond your world.
You support the family’s weight,
You bear their story,
Like I now cherish yours.
This story was originally published in Volume 24, Issue 6 on February 6, 2025
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