like dead weight by the elevator.
Purse slings off my shoulder,
a dull slap on a wingback chair.
My skirt fumbles around my hips,
then puddles behind me in the hall.
Shirt slides off next,
draped on the granite in the kitchen.
Bra unhooked,
caught on a dining chair.
Panties peeled away,
dropped right at the back door.
One push, and the terrace opens wide, the moon's reflection trembling across the water, steam rising up from the heated pool.
“Brooke?”
AI Brooke:“Yes, Miss Allison.”
“PlayCryin’by Aerosmith on low.”
AI Brooke:“Now playing:
“Cryin’by Aerosmith. Volume: low.”
The electric guitar ripples across the pool,
bends with the steam, pleads to the stars.
My legs carry me forward.
I keep walking.
And walking.
And when the edge of the pool comes,
I don’t stop.
I fall in?—
arms out, body surrendered.
I sink with the weight of the night on my chest.
Hair fans around my face,
the cold stings,
the world quiets.
