You told me once, the older you grow, the more you value balance: stairs, showers, those meager 24 hours, all demand we take a stance against lopsidedness. Try not to walk too close to the curb, and watch yourself on escalators. Church pews with kneelers? Decline and ask for forgiveness. Even if the spirit were willing, the flesh not weak, that crazy rush from rising would make you believe you’d been called home. In the bathtub, I see what you mean now, heat having gone to my head. Everything’s so slippery, standing seems silly, a tempt to the unforeseen. There I remain, suddenly chilly, listening to bubbles attached to my chest, crunch of their pops a reminder. Nothing much is more sacred than how we spend our moments, each second a burst of its own. This is no time for an existential crisis, but somehow it feels much safer. Sit in the shallow, let time do its thing while I just contemplate life. Wait for the water to drain. -Katherine Gotthardt
