Wandajune Bishop-Towle

Climacteric

I open the dryer, bring warm new laundry to my face, discover dampness on my upper lip. Prelude to a hot flush, my third today. Dampness beads, mottles, merges like raindrops on the sidewalk before rain comes down hard. My face flares, hot soup ladles down my spine. Long distance runner sweat. Saturated sickbed sweat. The flush subsides sudden as the death-scream of a kettle taken off the heat. Laundry, later. Cold comes, shivering different shades of green. I think of the beach at night in winter, and myself young.

cocooned
in damp sheets
I try to remember