|
|
|
Touching me, Touching You
My hands are full of soapy water Washing, carefully Washing Sherry’s bowl Recently emptied Of her potato salad My hands are full of sadness As I touch Her bowl And her life With my ministrations.
A week ago Her father died And thus a fathering And thus the leftovers Brought to me And now my hands are full of soapy water My eyes are full of tears As I wash Carefully wash My heartache Away with the Residue of her father’s death Sensing my own future In Sherry’s bowl.
-- Marguerite Rose Chabau © |