Two Loofahs

Something here is different.
I can’t quite place it yet 
Something is not the same

Hot water pounds my back
T I P P I N G me to a solid ground 

In the corner is the shelf I built
Our soaps and shampoos stacked
On three levels, slimy
With soap scum I haven’t scrubbed
Off yet.

That is still the same.

On the other side is the curtain
My sister and I hung
To contain the water, to hold the heat,
The curtain is still the same,
The same from when we strung it, strung out
At midnight over a year ago
So you could take a shower.
No, that’s still the same.

On the wall is the slow and ever-building 
Smudge of pink from soap left over
Scumming on the side.
It’s still there, because I scrubbed a week ago
And the scum spreads everyday.
The predictable growth of ick
Is as steady as a sunrise,
So no, that’s still the same.

Something here is different.

On the wall are two hooks,
Two white solid hooks,
Stoic in their wet presence.
I hung two hooks a year ago,
A year ago in our shower, and on
The two hooks are two loofahs,
And something here is different.

A year ago: two hooks, two loofahs.
I bought it all at Walmart, and your loofah
Was black. Mine green. 
Patching together a life for us
Trying
Me crumbling and glueing and
Trying. 

Something here is different.
Two hooks, two loofahs.
Yours blue, mine green.
Yours blue
Yours blue
Something here is different 

But something is the same
And it’s the C R U S H I N G,
The lonely, the “am I even here?” 

And I’m patching and crumbling and
Glueing and crumbling and
Breaking and dying and
Alone.

And you have a blue loofah.
And I am feeding a black hole.