Posted on by Allison Marie Conway

Heat

Behind the closed wooden door, he has the music playing as he soaks in the bath. Soft ambient sounds pulsing through the steamy air. I hear the water move when he moves and imagine his ocean blue eyes closed against the lavender heat.

I pour a second cup of dark roast coffee and read through some of my old poetry. Even though I recognize it, there are pieces that still manage to catch me off guard with their honesty. I understand why some actors never watch themselves on the big screen. It can be jarring to see yourself up so close. To observe the patterns and lines and curves of your own strange textures.

Sunday mornings are peaceful because we are lazy and cozy and naked. Make love for hours as the summery lilac breeze sifts in through the open bedroom windows and caresses our smooth bodies. It is all hazy glow and porcelain skin. Messy hair, wet open mouths. Seduction. Submission to desire, lust, pleasure. He sleeps heavy after. Always does.

Later we will swim. He will bring me chilled wine and I will thank him for it as if I owe him my life. Maybe, in truth, I do. Now R.E.M. is playing behind the closed door. The bath water moves again when he does. Losing my religion. I left religion behind a long time ago myself. I don’t make sacrifices anymore but I still remember a handful of the feast days. August 15th is the Assumption, for instance. The Virgin Mary, having completed the course of her earthly life, was assumed body and soul into heavenly glory.

I never had any issues with Mary only with the way they treated her. I don’t starve myself or hate myself the way I used to back when I was a girl learning about all the things girls were bad at and bad for. Now I’m grown. I live my life the way I want which is not to say it’s right but only that it’s what I want.

You can surprise yourself when you come face to face with what you want. You may find that you thought you wanted something else, something better for you, or worse. You find yourself doing a thing repeatedly and you realize that if you keep choosing it, good or bad, it must be what you want.

We still sabotage plenty of our own chances at happiness about a thousand times in any given week. But on Sundays… on Sundays, every single thing we do is just so goddamn sweet.

20 Replies to “Heat”

  1. Sweet. The lines “I don’t starve myself or hate myself the way I used to back when I was a girl learning about all the things girls were bad at and bad for. Now I’m grown. I live my life the way I want which is not to say it’s right but only that it’s what I want.” are refreshing. So many women get stuck in an eternal cycle of “…learning about all the things girls were bad at and bad for.” You do make the best of Sunday.

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      1. Your Sundays sound much more exciting than mine. I get up a 5:30 every morning, including Sundays. I do the same routine of feeding the cats and birds, making coffee for my wife, but I add in the so very exciting chore of doing laundry and hanging clothes on the line before I get on to whatever I need to do. Yesterday included working on my presentation of my paper at the International Conference on Construction Grammar in Antwerp, Belgium on Friday. My wife and I are presenting our papers remotely. Traveling Internationally is too much of a pain. The conference was supposed to happen last year, and was postponed to this year. I was really looking forward to going to Belgium, but those are the breaks.

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  4. Your description of love being something that can unexpectedly grow teeth/talons/wings and go feral at any moment was so on-the-nose and gorgeous, I’ve been thinking about that a lot.

    Also I recently learned that apparently “losing my religion” is a southern phrase for losing your temper! Maybe you’ve already heard that but it blew my mind.

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  5. “We still sabotage plenty of our own chances at happiness about a thousand times in any given week. But on Sundays… on Sundays, every single thing we do is just so goddamn sweet.”

    I love the close of this piece!

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  6. I wonder if you even realise what happens when you write. Not only are you creating something so wildly beautiful with every seemingly effortless sentence, but also offering such depth of knowledge, of the understanding of the human condition. I bet none of your readers go without any takeaways from what you write. There’s validation sometimes; sometimes a question or a long due answer, and sometimes, just absolute soul soothing emotion, if not all each time! I think I suppressed a bubble of emotion towards the third paragraph with “summery lilac breeze” – it’s only ever happened to me when I read Emile Brontë or Shelley, and I’m both surprised and overwhelmed that I’ve found such a powerful writer here on WordPress. I often feel I sound too much like a fan-girl when I comment on your posts, Allison, but I’m just so moved to find that after all these years of loathing the evolution of poetry to meaningless phrases and mediocrity strewn all over social media like garbage- the ‘chosen ones’ so to speak, still share their work, still write for those that will only make the effort to discover. I don’t want to drown you in what might seem like praise, but believe you me, is the absolute truth, but I think you’re just right up there among the best writers of all time.

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    2. Isha, I am so grateful for your taking the time and care to leave this incredible comment, to share such heartfelt words about your true connection to what I do. I saved your precious words so that I may pull them toward myself when dark times come, as we know they always do…. you don’t sound fan girl, dear one… you are a masterful, powerful wordsmith and an artist I cherish and respect. I’m so grateful beyond for your encouragement … it means worlds to me. ♥️🏹🌹

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