Short Fiction Poetry 1 min

Ritual

Kelleen Zubick

It must have been the circumscribed

aspect of the sunlight—

approachable, laid out in distortion

from the window on the pile,

the creamy den rug, a possibility

of just now, of squeezing in—

that led to such solitary extravagance:

bathing in a patch of sun,

a practice that starts

on the shadowed edge: swift lift of shirt

and shirk of anything under,

the maille of colder air roughing skin,

then stepping in—not testing

but outstretched, tall, full-measure

then sinking, knees to chest, soaking

in temporary wonderment

where she can weave her hands

through the motey air, lean

back and let the dazzling

countenance wash her hair.

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