Coming in from the Snow at Dusk

My little one sits in the cold

white tub while the water

runs, and I’m remembering

how it was as a kid, sitting there

naked, shivering in the cold air

and the light’s glare, staring

at gushing streams of water

hot enough to send clouds

of steam storming all around

the room. I remember the smooth

tiles, mushy soap, a washcloth

stiff on its little hook, the roaring

sound of water as it poured from

a shiny faucet, and absolute

purity in the silence that came

later, when the water was done

and the tub was full, and it all

came down to a slow drip, drop

drip into eternity, and I stretched

out my skinny, little kid body

with its ribcage and scabby knees

full-length in that hot water,

and I lay there still for a long

time with my eyes closed,

thinking about nothing.

Geoff Collins’s Bio:

I have been writing stories and poems for about four years, and have had work appear recently in Blue Earth Review, Reed Magazine, Tigers Eye Journal, and Whitefish Review. I live with my wife and two daughters in a small town in Dane County, where I work in the local schools.