Bathe | Devany Bauer I heard the rain before I saw it, the familiar pitter patter, pitter patter. How I imagine the hooves of eight tiny reindeer would sound on Christmas. But this is mid-July and Santa isn’t real. Rain is real. Water is real. I am real. It was warm enough outside that the raindrops resembled the drops that tumble out of my shower head and travel down my breasts and back. It has been so long since I’ve had a bath – my eyes flash to the lake where the air pockets snap and pop as more raindrops fall from the sky to the water’s surface. I’m in it. I’m submerged. I’m taking a bath. The pads of my feet press against the smooth stones underneath me and in one swift motion my hips rise to the surface.
I’m floating.
There is nothing but water above me, around me, inside me.
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