Bathing a Child

            Elbow-deep in shallow water 
            with porcelain pressed against my breast 
I dragged the sudsy washcloth 
over your squirming body 
                                    your soft flesh 
            lost in the groan of my folded knees 
                                    hard upon the bathroom floor. 

Always you emerged 
            powder-fresh and dry 
and finally learned to do the task alone. 

            Now soaking 
                                    in effervescent solitude 
as soap glides over my seasoned skin 
                                    scrubbing my memory 
I feel the supple pink you were 
            like December recollection of roses.