The Children's Bathroom

Lyrics

The floorboards are cold after the rug in the Night Nursery ends.
The hallway is a river. I have to swim past the doors.
The Eldest Daughter's Room is humming a song I'm not allowed to know.
I hold my breath past the door to the Sick Room. The silence there is heavy, it tries to pull you in.
A warm smell of lavender comes from the crack under the Linen Closet door. A good smell. A safe smell.
Almost there.
The handle is low on this one. Made for me.
The Children's Bathroom.
The floor is a map of white stars. The tub is a white boat waiting for a sea.
It's always night in here, even when the sun is out.
The only window is the water.
Claw feet hold the world up. I trace them with my toe.
The soap is smooth as a promise. Worn down by hands I don't have yet, or hands I've forgotten.
There's a chip in the tile by the drain. It looks like a sleeping cat. It's been sleeping since 1929.
I turn the faucet, the one shaped like a cross.
And the drip… the sound of the drip has a color. It's the pale blue of a robin's egg right before it breaks.
The Children's Bathroom.
The floor is a map of white stars. The tub is a white boat waiting for a sea.
It's always night in here, even when the sun is out.
The only window is the water.
I look down into the bath. The water isn't water.
It's a mirror, but it doesn't show the ceiling.
It shows the bottom of the tub, and in the reflection of the tub is the whole bathroom again, smaller.
And in that smaller bathroom, another tub, with a tiny sky inside it.
I remember swimming with the moon, but there's no window.
There was never a window. I remember remembering it.
The water goes down the drain, a whirlpool of silver thread.
It whispers a name as it leaves.
A name that doesn't belong to anyone anymore.
The room is empty again. Waiting.