Winter Hot Springs Soak by Wendy Gist

Winter Hot Springs Soak

Week of icy air holiday bliss:
deep artesian immersion,
geothermal heat steeps rich

undercurrents of mineralized
wateriness, chloride-sterilized.
I lie here relaxed as lingerie unstrung—

sunken in clear water from earth—healing,
whether psychosomatic or not.
Surveying the bath:

physiology from breasts to toe nails shimmying
gloss-red like shots of Christmas punch.
Yolk buttered walls of morning

fill the bright windowsill,
as silken hairs silver in revitalizing light
dance in impish delight

upon the purple heart leaves
of an Inch plant.
I soak until poached.

Clang and drum come from spa kitchen.
Egg-bake-casserole snicks
the room, thyme within steam

mounting from chin to nose.
I am rose-oiled greasy as a goose,
robe-cocooned warm, hair combed wet-loose,

unmade face soft,
body flawed as paws
without claws:

I am ready for coffee.

by Wendy Gist

Wendy on Twitter: @Gist_W

Editor’s Note: The short lines and careful enjambment frame the imagery in this poem so that the reader must appreciate the moment. This subtle encouragement gives the last line an unexpected punch.


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