Wednesday's Nightmare

It’s silly really . . . the terror, I mean.

Such a benign sight:

the grayness of the tile,

the starkness of the bathtub,

the clarity of the water,

lapping over the edge,

soaking the orange fibers of the mat.

My toes drown and

my panicked feet lead me away and back and

my tense arms heave the towels to the floor and

my unnerved eyes shut out all sight.

The more I try,

the less it slows:

I become the little Dutch boy’s finger in the dam,

submerged in water as the pressure builds and then bursts.

The silly terror hangs on even after my eyes open.