RESURRECTED

  by Nadine Lockhart


I never noticed how the grout pulls 
from the edges in a jagged dance--
forms a frame of ragged teeth--
points cutting in or jutting out; 
dirt fills the uneven space,
outlines the bathroom tile-- 
an off-color coral-pink ceramic, 
cold to my chin and cheek bones; vagrant dust, 
fragrant plastic from the soft fringes of sea foam—
a floral shower curtain hanging like a pleated sheet,
between the damp borders of its scalloped hem, 
the hard floor reveals evenly divided sections, 
fill lines form small white crosses at corner joints, 
and I am the level who lays the vision 
square against the horizon.