Substitute

A man takes his sadness down to the river and throws it in the river
                        but then he’s still left
with the river. A man takes his sadness and throws it away
                                                      but then he’s still left with his hands.

(Richard Siken/ Boot Theory)





I don't get a river-
instead, there's the ceramic white
of the bathtub, two sachets of bath salts
that don't bubble, and a bottle of shower gel
that does, rising up as I sink into
the water that's just the perfect temperature
because I'm good at this kind of thing:
the precisely calculated minute,
knowing the difference between enough
and too much, and how pleasure tips
so easily into its opposite
and I'm in the habit of watching
for the line.

So, no river,
nothing deep enough for drowning,
no swift current to carry away
the things I do not wish to keep
but this will do,
enough, but not too much,
or perhaps too much
on another day, but not today;
I buy myself an indulgence-
everything else will keep-
for now, I attempt weightlessness,
in the face of gravity
and the fact of my hands.