from my hair this morning
a nearly dead instinct
caused my left hand
to snap up and cover my eyes;
I was a young child again,
in the bathtub
while Mom poured water
over
my
head.
So protective of my eyes,
Mom would encourage me
to hold a rag over them
while she cleaned my hair.
I remember the pain of
the soap in my eyes
as much as
her
concern.
The day I showed her
I could wash myself,
I remember her
looking away
and then
leaving
the
bathroom.
But she was proud
of me when I came
out of the bathroom
fully dressed and
hair a mess
with my
left
eye
red
from shampoo.
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