The Bath of Wife
by matt miller
Gingerly, tenderly, I bathe her,
My wife.
She is the Bath of Wife.
I am careful not too rub her skin too hard, or else it will sheath off.
I am careful not to comb her hair too roughly, or it will pull out.
I am careful not to bend her joints too quickly, or they will crack.
I bathe my wife.
She is the Bath of Wife.
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I see behind this that an institution (such as marriage) can become so ritualized it attains a personality of its own. Here the wife has died and the personified ritual, now pushing morbid, is reaching its mortality as well.
The bathe of (y)our wife is dead. Long live the Bath of Wife.
that picture tickles my reflection center.
if there’s anywhere for a bath of wife it’s there.
you can almost see her fractured face about to float up and break the glass-water.
but vampires work too.
vampires and their dead girlfriends.
well, she does seem rather corpse-like, as if he were bathing his wife’s body for burial. Didn’t he do one a few years ago about the dead girlfriend, or was that someone else?
It might be more digestible than we’re making it out to be. We can always take it at surface level and say, “Well… he’s giving his fragile wife a bath”. Knowing Matt, it probably has something to do with vampires though.
I think she’s an inverted character from Canterbury Tales
I can honestly say that I am without anything to say here. Which is to say, I have nothing to say. Say you, say me.
Say it together. Is there an inside joke in this piece? Is there some reference here I am missing? Some play on words?
I feel like I need a shower. Bath of Wife? Staff of Life? Is she dead? Am I stooopid?