One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now.

In the Hot Spring Locker RoomHaley DiRenzoI saw naked women scrubbing saltedskin as my mother ushered mepast. Eyes lingered on bodies rawand round. Breasts dangling, belliesdrooping. Sketched scars and stretchmarks painted in different shades.Clay earth, bruised sky, blue vein.My own body was a girl’s then.Still, I’d graduated from runningnaked through my home to needingto hide myself. I barely rememberedthe bloom of my own mother’sbreast that fed me. She toonow dressed behind closed doorsunable to know or to teachbeing seen without sex or shameor desire. Even now in a locker roomI cover quickly, but long to bethese women. Limbs sloughedpink after sinking heavyinto a hot spring. I can heartheir breathy sighs as water carvesrivers over curves. Their soft whisperssaying simply—yes.

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