Erosion

I kick the sheets until they’re at the foot.

The mattress has a skin of ground-up stone.

My heels are raw and stained with salt and soot,

the kind of grit that gets inside the bone.

I stand inside the tub and watch the heap

of broken shells and silt begin to swirl.

The drain is clogged with what I couldn't keep,

the sharp and salted edges of the world.