130.

this is the kind of morning when you remember
so many baths you spent as a child
looking, small and naked, at your hair underwater
watching how it flowed around your hands
and feeling for all the world like a mermaid
for all the world like a magical girl

this is the kind of morning when you realize
that it is already 1:30 pm and you are already 23
and morning walked past your window
as you slept and dreamed alone
of red lips on yours, red like your hair
has always been, underneath itself

and you are dyeing it back in three days
coming home to your red self again
after spending so much time black and blue
the colors in your hair, the bruises on your skin
the years when you ran your baths
with more wine than water

and you are wondering now
whether mermaids swim in Texas rivers
whether you might find yourself sun bathing
at 1:30 pm next weekend, on warm banks on hot towels
bending over the water's surface again
and dipping your hair in

to see if it still swirls around your hands
the way it used to