Kitchen Bath

My left hand is getting a little tired,
so I shift it a bit, moving along your back,
careful not to let it slip in the sudsy water.

My right hand is holding your belly,
making sure you don’t slip,
and one of your hands is on mine.

You don’t cry anymore. Now it’s fun.
I love your constant smile,
even when you surprise yourself

with a splash, getting soap in your eyes.
I calmly wipe it away, quickly and gently,
smiling myself the whole time – and humming.

/ / /

This poem was written in response to the prompt to write a poem describing a scene in which two or more people interact without speaking at Poetic Asides.

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