SOAP A POEM

SOAP

I stand there naked before the stone hearth
water heating in the iron pot

when it's hot enough
I lift the heavy pot and pour the steaming water
into my chipped white enamel basin that sits on a brown wooden chair.

I will take my bath that is a bath and not a bath
gazing into the swirling steaming waters
I catch a glimpse of myself looking into the basin that holds time.

my past, my present and my future swim round and round
I see what cannot be seen in those shallow waters that conceal deeper waters.

there I am treading water trying to make my way on this small island

I see the long swim through tearful ambivalent waters
that conceal the blossoming of a water lily

there, on that Catholic island
how can I ever know I will eventually emerge from the waters of a mikvah
saying a Jewish blessing, rising up smiling

my bath resumes

a small pink bar of soap
chipped white enamel basin on a chair, a washcloth, a towel and me.

standing carefully near the fire, I wash myself in the half light

no island lad sees my nakedness,
and the pink soap cleans all of me.






-2-

the last chore,
washing my long, long, hair that is braided during the day


at night it streams over my pillow
like a mermaid's as I drift through dreams

I dip my head into the white basin
and pour a small pitcher of warm water over my hair again and again.

finally I am clean, naked and dripping on the cold floor.

I get dressed.

the next morning I lean over the basin once more,
washing my face with the pink bar of soap.

as my braids dip into the water
I glimpse myself at another time and place
with short hair makeup and earrings,
all dressed up and ready to go to shul

A splash of water and I am back in the moment.

stepping out of the old stone cottage
I join the island women walking to mass.