Dear C,

I don’t have time for a whole letter for you today—although you’ve given me much to write about lately. Maybe another time. For the moment, here is a very quick, very short scene from last night.


after dinner we cleared the dishes,
wiped the counter dry,
and fitted the sink with
a blue plastic basin.
you stood on a chair nearby, watching gravely
as we lowered her tiny pink body into the warmth,
legs, belly, chest.
with each warm cupful, soft splash,
she peered back at us, eyes like deep waters
lulling us in waves.
and suddenly you wanted in:
“let me,” you said,
and we handed you a cloth,
and you washed her feet,
and her arms reached out for you,
a startled embrace
that hugged only the air,
her sea-storm eyes unable to find you.
and you smiled, her sister, her wisdom,
as if to say,
You do not know now what I am doing,
but later you will understand.