Cloistered within her living walls of flesh,
Soapstone skin, breath minty fresh,
Bursting ivory, towelling dressing-gown,
Laughing as she bounces up and down.

It was the boys’ bath night
and you had bathed
and were drying yourself

with the white towel
they had given you
when the bathroom door flew open

and Anne stood there one-legged
in her pink flowered nightdress
perching on her crutches like a hawk

her eyes bright and dark
a smile lingering on her lips
well ****** me

she said
what a sight
for a girl’s lovesick eyes

and she entered the bathroom
and pushed the door shut
behind her with her bottom

almost uncrutching herself
in the process
you pulled the towel

tight around you
and stared at her
it’s the boys’ bath night

you muttered
girls aren’t allowed in
while boys bath

she moved over
to the mirror
and gazed at herself

you’re right
she said
I’m not a boy

I’m a tight titted girl
and she laughed
and crutched herself

over towards you
making you flatten yourself
against the wall

gripping the towel with one hand
and holding her back
with the other

and she leaned down
and kiss the back of your hand
then looked you deep in the eyes

what have you got hidden
behind that towelling skirt then?  
she said

and you gripped the towel tighter
with both hands
and she menacingly moved

one hand cautiously towards the towel
her armpits gripping
the crutches tightly

as she moved
you shouldn’t be in here
you said

I’m not in there yet
she laughed and grabbed
the towel away with a force

that took her and the towel
toppling to the bathroom floor
where she lay

like an overturned beetle
you stood naked
your hands covering

what your father
called your toolbox
gazing down at her struggling

to get up
well don’t just stand there
like a prize parrot

help pick me up
she said
and so with one hand covering

you knelt down to help lift her up
but then she pulled you
down beside her

and laughed
and her laughter echoed
around the walls

but then she paused
and put a hand
over her mouth

hearing Sister Bridget’s
nearby footsteps
and noisy calls.

Under all the days that I have lived
Are you, my family, carrying bags
Filling my shoes with pebbled love
Running the last steps to catch up.

Hands splash out the blue circles
Where lollies drip Coca Cola ice
Wet towelling holding us so close
An avenue of trees to walk home.

Love Mary x

when i first saw him
he was wearing untied boots without socks
sauntering across a hilly grass field
to calypso music playing in the
background or my imagination

i was so overtaken by his spirit
when he brought me home that
i succumbed to drowsiness for three days
curled simply into his armpit and
danced upon the galaxy

when i awoke he was massaging my feet
checking my reflexes for sun damage and
soothed my soft bruises with a milk plate

he kisses me in the morning with enthusiasm
and we share a room for breakfast as he
teases me with ecstasy eyes and i'm
no longer nervous around strangers

last night i danced across his bedsheets
he giggled and rolled his eyes at me as
i stood with the light of the sunset shining
behind my ears his rhinestone eyes locked
into mine for more than a moment and
my knees went weak my fragile hips collapsed
reclining into his chest like a middle eastern
pillow

i think his sweaty neck is delicious
as i sing to him through a vibraphone
in the magical kitchen
licking his skin clean i'm bathing
him in a sunbeam stretched across the tile
beneath the bay window

although i'll never understand why
he leaves or where he goes i know he'll
always return to me as the sun grows cold
and the white moon begins to weep her new
lust onto the blooms in the front garden

and in the meantime i keep myself warm
wrapped in a ball of yarn talking in circles
to myself spinning and catching strands of
cloudlight in my unsure hands

when i finally see him in the driveway
at the sky's edge picking flowers for me
the confusion melts away and the pain
from my wonky leg becomes
suddenly forgettable

as i watch him putting on clothes
in the morning just before dawn
or towelling off after a long day away
my eyes play with him and i let him know
how i feel with my body aroused
merely by his tone of voice nudging
him with my cheeks on the tight spots of his ankles

he is beautiful and strong full
of compassion and i'm so afraid of
being alone again i'll do anything
to squeeze him and keep him so
i scratch his back every morning at 5am
exploring the sharpness of his shoulder blades
to remind him of the things
we can do together
and to make sure
he's still alive

Bare pad of feet on wood - he feels her warmth
Sashay in the towelling robe to sit
Before him in her simple finery,
Hair in dripping ringlets from the shower.

Across the little kitchen table eyes
Meet and know in comfortable quiet.

The tea between them steams its blessing.

A misty world is waiting for the words
She leans and looks to know his question.  
"Diamonds, dreams, or love?" he says.

A slight incline of head and hazel eyes.
Outside the quantum dance of autumn leaves,
But here is human trust that wills
A circle round them both Forever.  

"Kindly Chinese soldiers live in Cookham"
A slim hand reaches past his cup to touch
His fingers, "Don't worry - dreams do that, My Love,
And we started/ended with the third as it should be..."
And as for diamonds - well, the day will tell!"

They look their love and rise to go their ways.

The leaves dance on.

Saskatoon girls in their cleats coalesce
To hit hits and spit spits by the Legion Hall.
As custom, proceeding the evening’s last call
good-games are exchanged for high-fives abreast.
Scratching their bites they squint up to the blue,
towelling sweat from the backs of their necks,
they know Jesus is there to see them home.
He's in their lemon lime gatorade too,
He supervises all of the pickup trucks
Country on the dial and dust-dull chrome
In Canada’s rectangular mid-midwest,
defined and deformed by the moistureless squall
that carries the scent of the cereal sprawl
and it’s cinder-grit **** to the pink of the chest.

After the bath the drying of,
the white towel under the
arms, over arms and *******,
between thighs, all over until

all dries or near so, and while
drying, she thinks of the long
afternoon spent, the meal, art
gallery and back to the hotel

for *** and talk and *** again.
She smiles, drying along her thigh,
here where he put his lips, kiss
planting, lips damp and wet, his

tongue lick lick, she laughs softly,
dries her buttocks, rubs and rubs,
and him reciting some short *****
poem, tapping his fingers along her

spine. She pauses the drying of, sits
and recalls the kisses set, the places
laid, the excitement caused and
raised and she in giggles near to

wetting and he laughing. After
the bathing, the rumination and
towelling all over, skin rubbed,
bath oils, powder, remembering

embraces, touching in places (what
would Mother have said?), and
he running finger along her nerves
and setting her juices to flow, then

have to leave, said he, have to go,
then gone, bed empty, space vacated,
scent left, odours lingering, still on
fire, unsatisfied desire. She sits and

puts down the towel, takes cigarette,
lights, inhales and thinks on and when
next and where, and if in truth, he’ll
come and (God be praised) ever be there.

A woman’s touch. Yet to
another woman applied,
towelling dry, older, hands

slightly more worn, eyeing
the young woman, secretly
wishing. The young woman,

naked except the pink bow
in brown hair, thinking of
something other, not sensing

anything of the woman drying,
the touch, the towel, is far
from her thoughts, maybe some

boyfriend and his recent deeds
or words or both. The bath
had been refreshing, the water

just right, the older woman
always has it so, the towel laid
out, the soap prepared, washing

the back, places she cannot reach.
The older woman seems to take
her time, drying each area of skin

with some daintiness, a delicate
touch, wanting more maybe or
nothing very much. The younger

woman, feeling dryer, more in
touch with self, thoughts ordered
into place, takes no notice of the

other woman’s rub of ******* or
under arms, no thought of hers at
all, no grace, no charms, the recent

boyfriend, he who made to her such
passionate entering and kissings,
she feels like a fatted calf, some well

stuff bird, pleased with her self, her
sense of need fulfilled, the pleasure
dome having been reached and done.

The older woman drying now the thighs
has no wish to end her task, no other love
or want, except what’s there before her eyes.

I want you
to wash my back
Skinny Kid
Anne said

she was standing
on her one leg
in the bathroom
of the nursing home

at Fishbourne
but what if someone comes
and sees me here?
you asked anxiously

we'll tell them to *******
she said pushing
the door shut
with a hand almost

falling over
in the process
you looked at her there
in a white towelling gown

the one leg showing
where the gown ended
Sister Paul
ran the bathwater

but left me
to get in and out
but what if she comes back?
you said

she won't
she gone off to prayers
in the chapel
Anne said

now come on Kid
let's to action
and she stripped off
the gown and holding

on your arm eased
herself into the water
with a slight splash
you stood there

trying not to notice
her *******
gazing at the white tiles
with ducks on each one

at the curtains
white and flowered
she began to wash herself
with a pink sponge

oozing soapsuds
her hand moving swiftly
over her parts
here and there

her stump visible
just under
the water's skin
does your leg hurt?

you asked
she looked up at you
now and then
she said

some nights
it hurts like ****
and when I go to rub it
it isn't there

now stop gawking
and start to rub my back
you took the sponge
from her hand

and began to push
the sponge over
her back nervously
her dark hair

over her shoulders
her head downward
her hands pushed
between her thighs

you felt embarrassed
moving over her flesh
seeing the curves
of her waist

sensing the sponge
wash over her
under her arms
you moved

OK OK that's enough
she said who do you think
you are
some ****** explorer?

I got carried away
you said
you will get carried away
in a fecking coffin

she said
right listen out
for the *** starved nuns
you gave her back

the sponge and wiped
your hands on the towel
by the bath
your ears strained

to hear any footsteps
of nuns
you lowered your arm
so Anne could pull

herself up and out
of the bath
and you wrapped
the big towel about her

shall I go now?
you asked
no
she said

stay until I’m done
in case if fall
so you stayed
looking at the walls

and ceiling
and the bath
with the ***** water
seeing out

of the corner
of your young boy's eyes
her rubbing herself dry
with one hand

while with the other
holding on to wall
just in case she slipped
or began to fall

then just as she turned around
you heard footsteps
and voices
out in the hall.

Wash my swollen fingertips
In the salt of tender tears

Press hot sponges
Against my aching belly

Wrap my body
In softest towelling

Cleanse my lungs
With fragrant steam

Massage my rigid muscles
With oils and herbs

Apply tinctures
To heal my fractured soul

Hold my head
With your soft hands

And kiss my eyelids
To ease my mind

Haul me to my feet
And I will stand

To face the jeering crowds
And sharpening knives

Grip my collapsing knees
And I will speak daring truths

Celebrate the greatness in me
That you have never seen

And I will become a man
You can but dream of

you step out first
towelling and looking back
at me as I still
stand in the poor excuse for a shower
our first in this old wooden framed building
seemingly
every minute spent under the lukewarm water
contributing to to its imminent collapse
I so wish it was only us
ever before
and
ever after
I hope your short memory
only serves to remember
exclusively
my hands
my touch
this love
ours and only
We step outside
it is always mid to late afternoon
but never quiet
being together solves most everything
when you take it away
do it slow
make it as if you were dying in your sleep
instead of your life
you have this picture
of our bodies
spilled over one another
your leg camel coloured
and mine magnolia
entwined
until the object created cannot be defined nor personified
I never thought it before
now it lingers heavy
like a summer smog
disallowing me from remembering who I am
I want to become acutely aware
of these days
which we let pass
all the while knowing they are golden
it is the knowing
and simultaneously letting them deteriorate
which leaves me in a strange limbo
wanting to encapsulate something
unbeknownst even to myself
looking into your eyes
framed with spider lashes
I want to hold
and hold
and hold
its like I cant be close enough
you are never close enough
it cant be voiced
shown
mimicked
performed
described
it is nothing
but felt
and that is all it can be

I got home dripping wit,
did I write wit?
I meant of course wet,
now I'm
stripping off my kat
oops I mean kit
and towelling dry.

jeez
what  a day
what a way to carry on,
I thought the winter had gone
but no
it's still here,

and now I suppose
because I'm old
I'll catch a cold
and they'll all start
fussing around,

ah,
a silver lining to be found
in everything.