Comment on this article

Washing My Mother's Back
by Sharon Auberle

My mother does not revel
in excess pleasure.
She sleeps in a narrow bed.
Her food is sparse,
she drinks no wine,
at eighty-two
her body is honed
of every excess inch or process,
yet I am surprised by sudden joy
rippling beneath my hands
over the tender bow of neck,
down the white-lathered curve of spine
into that naked place
where pleasures live
and swans sing
their final song.


Return to:

[New] [Archives] [Join] [Contact Us] [Poetry in Motion] [Store] [Staff] [Guidelines]

© 2001- 2012, Quill & Parchment Productions
All contributions are copyright of the respective authors