Clawfoot Tubs

Ladies take baths

In clawfoot tubs

Where the water spills

Over the top

Onto the tile floor

And gets lapped up by cats

Who prefer soapy water

Legs are outstretched

Toes pointed

Feet arched

Brushes go through hair

Bodies get submerged

Sometimes faces too

If a day was

Longer

Than it should have been

Dreams are had

About days when baths

Will include rose petals

And special salts

But for now

The heat will have to be

Enough

Steam rises towards the windows

And outside boys

Imagine women

Who are slender

And pure

Unique women

With just the right amount

Of width and wisdom

Wit and wilderness

Whimsy and wonder

Those women

Are taking baths elsewhere

Because in the clawfoot tubs

There are rough women

Who do not mind their hands

But who do not show them off either

There are women

With pickled fingertips

Marks and scars

Bruises they don’t remember getting

And love bites from men

They don’t remember either

They soak past soaking time

And come up with excuses

For why they were in the bath

For so long

Part of them considers

Drifting beneath the surface of the water

To flirt with drowning

Before emerging

Having brushed by death

With nothing to hold him at bay

But a bottle of lavender shampoo

Outside baseball games are being played

And trees are being climbed

And down the hall

Piano lessons are given

And windows are washed

And two sets of sheets

Are put on every bed

In the clawfoot tubs

Hands submerge

And go looking

For excursions

In places

Polite women

Don’t dare

Consider

The tub curls its toes

And grumbles

Like a newly fed animal

Satisfied

But only

For a moment