Write a poem rooted in “weird wisdom,” by which we mean something objectively odd that someone told you once, and that has stuck with you ever since.
Making Heat
I’m in the old clawfoot bathtub with my sister,
the water so cold, my toes are like blueberries
rolling around in the bottom of the freezer,
my fingers feel like popsicle sticks.
She says, rub your hands together
really fast, like this,
make lots of bubbles with the soap,
it warms up the water. She’s two and half
years older than me with long braids,
an infectious laugh that buoys me up
even now when I step into the lake
rubbing my hands together
conjuring her grin in the mist
rising from the cold water.
