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.