Love’s Recovery    by Nancy Schatz Alton

I don’t let go of the hot August sun.

It sears rejection in weary concrete.

I do turn to my daughter’s request.

I wash her chlorine tangled hair in our kitchen sink.

She leans back, mimics the beautician’s parlor,

bright blue washcloth under her tender neck.

She and I scaffold this safe place.

Warm water drenches her T-shirt,

my fingers straighten bleached ends.

Let this replace what I hold too close.

My misled mind trips while my body

makes this new path from love.

3.26.2018