Refuge

She unlocked the door, peeled off her layers, and removed her bra. It’s 6:30, and the might of the day has placed itself on the other side of those hinges. She wasn’t a champion of anything anymore, no — in that space of stucco and stains, she was just herself, reclaiming herself. On her naked floor, she walked around unclothed. The only face she saw was her own in the mirror, pensive and undemanding of her time and energy. In fact, nothing in this world was demanding anything of her right now. Even her newly treated apartment windows dappled the hazy evening light, as if the very building itself understood — she needed things diluted at this very moment.

Bare-bodied, skin left raw to the air, just free to close her eyes, close her thighs, close her mind, she slips on her gratitude. Thank you, she thinks. Thank you for surviving this day.


Daily Post prompt: Champion

Kitchen rhythmics

You come home to me, your feet tapping their way to the kitchen.
You hear me sing as the knife bombards tomatoes in an even tempo.
You wrap your arms around me as our hips sway to Tracy Chapman.
You pick out our cups while I pick out our teas, and we alternate sipping.
You smile, I smile, you smile, I smile — oh, the headiness of reciprocation.

Such is the rhythm of our evenings together.


Daily Post prompt: Rhythmic