the poet does laundry

Brand 29 Alice G. Brand the poet does laundry I kneel in the clawfooted tub as if I am praying. I attach a hose to the spigot and spray my hair, wash it, rinse it, wet my face and neck before I let my groin sink into the water, it is quiet enough, low enough, clean enough and grazing the least of my body. I have gotten used to washing this way top to bottom, out to in, the water telling me what to do especially today when the bath water bleeds, it reminds me of that new method of delivery, the doctors say that giving birth under water is soft, better for both mother and baby if I can forget becoming clean, then I can settle the last half of my body down into the marsh licking my thighs, congealed and bronchial. I knew a secretary once, older than me and with sons in coUege. she was proud she stiU bled, she made sure you knew. still I have been waiting for it to stop. I have been asking for years, which peculiarity 30 the minnesota review is the first sign: a hair growing from a mole on my cheek or the staining in between, the tremblings of a dying volcano this morning I lay on a hotel bed not knowing why I bleed from tumors that hang like pictures on walls I'U never see I'm helpless to change why I still bleed with a vehemence that blackens like a bruise. silt vaults around itself, forming rapids, cutting canyons. I roll on my side I must get up before the blood runs off the road past any tampon or cotton pad, through my underwear and nightgown I scrub the clothing, hang them on the headboard. I strip the bed, soak the sheet and mattress cover, dip them in bleach, boiling, rubbing, watching the rorschachs fade to mountain trim. I feel as if I am caught stealing bread, spilling coffee and covering the mistake with newspaper. it is bad manners to bleed things some women don't know how to explain to housekeepers, who share in the process but who want me to dispose of it in small, neat bags, who don't want any leavings because no one should have to clean up some one else's unborn so inexorable Brand 31 so final that in the time remaining I miss the babies I will never bear ...