My apologies, son
that we bathe you in this cold water.
I assure you, we tried warming it,
but boiling kettles of water
could not seduce its frigid infancy.
So we wildly scrub your fingers and toes,
dismantle the dirt behind your ears,
all while you breathlessly wail
a simple request to play with bath toys;
which, believe, hurts us not to honor.
My apologies, son
that we bathe you in this cold water,
but our school week emerges,
and like a hungry hawk, it is
bound to swallow us whole.
You’re right about the work week! Hope it’s a good one!
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Hope that hawk finds other prey. Great images in your poem.
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Your amazing poem made me think of The threads of continuity between a century ago and today… How the concrete reality of struggle then translates into metaphoric challenges of today. Once again a beautiful entry
Sent from my iPhone
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I enjoyed reading the poem, not so much the bath. I love the image of a hawk swallowing the work week, so true!
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