I don’t use a washcloth in the shower. It’s probably bad for me. Not exfoliating, I mean. I bet someone has died from it. Somewhere, I read that dust is 70% skin, which means when you walk into the room you grew up in, you are breathing yourself. Last week I blew the dust off my bookshelf and rose by the window in particulate, tumbling light.
Published in Open Arts Forum on .
Michele Harris was awarded the 2011 David A. Kennedy prize in poetry, and her poem Instinct was selected as a finalist for the 2018 New Millennium Award. Her work has appeared in The Tishman Review, Anderbo, Cicada, New Millennium Writings, The Prose-Poem Project, Dirtflask, Sheepshead Review, The Northridge Review, Uncanny Valley, Anatomy & Etymology, Snapdragon, The Columbia College Literary Review, Eclectica, Fourteen, The FEM, Escarp, Stirring, Turbulence, Falling Star Magazine, and elsewhere. She holds a BA in English Literature from Allegheny College and an MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Massachusetts Boston, where she teaches Literature for the Osher Lifelong Learning Institute.
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