Saraswati Nagpal – Each time you ring the brass bell

​

you are wracked with shame. The burden of you

is unforgivable, a thousand apologies fall

from your soft mouth, like jasmine buds,

tender and fragrant.

The smell in the room is ancient, truth of body,

infant or aged. My hands reach for your hips gently,

turn, rubber sheet, unfasten, lift, slide—

I talk about the school day, the kid who painted

my blackboard red, the one whose goldfish died,

roll, bin, wet wipe, dry wipe, a little prince in my class

whose bodyguard complimented my presentation on

Ancient Egypt – at least someone was listening— you

giggle, lift, slide, fasten —

how Dad took the leash for a walk

without the dog! We’re shaking with laughter,

and it’s over.

I drag you up, lay you back against pillows,

gather blessings spilling from your hands, your

eyes, like argent moon-dew washing me clean.

**