Honey I Washed the Kids |
Bees a'Humming or "Thanks Lush"
Sliver of soap sat upon my palm,
hexagonal perfection entombed within.
Each chamfered slab sharply cut
and laid against its twin.
One smooth surface a counterpoint
to sticky waxiness against my skin.
Cream flecked in golden mount
bringing Dandelion parachutes
drifting down to verdant lawn.
Heaviness of thought and limb,
breath falling into humming bees.
Memory surfacing of my father's hand,
across a notepad lined with summer blue.
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