Dreaming Porcelian Dreams

I remember calling you from the bathtub
of my hotel room.
The tub was spacious
and my family was one collective pile
on the hotel bed sheets.
I think David Letterman was on.
I remember cradling the phone in the palm of my hand
and trying to describe the
snap, crackle, and pop of my heart
using only the words they taught me in grade school.
My feet were huge against the white
of the tub.
I watched my toes wiggle
deliberately off the rhythm of the conversation.
They were saying the things you couldn't hear.
I remember sliding down into the depths of the tub
when I tried to explain
the jealousy that was always hiding in my back pocket.
My heart was running hot water through my veins
and I was sure
I would be turning into a memory any minute
but you held me in the present
with the sound of your phantom voice.
I remember calling you from a partially horizontal position
in the bathtub of my hotel room
and telling you all about the cloud I was inhabiting
and the man who was putting me there.