A poem about growing up. |
in my grandmother's house there was a tiny little bathroom that none of the adults ever used and as a young child I could go in there to put on or take off my bathing-suit (as long as i didn't use the good towels or the tiny bar of soap shaped like a whale) and this was a me-sized room where i could reach the sink and be all by myself which i remember being a very precious thing so (when my hands were dry) i would pick up the little soap-whale and whisper secrets to it knowing that she would keep them safe in the tiny little bathroom that none of the adults ever used with the do-not-touch towels and the bowl of mini-pine cones and the me-sized sink that was getting rather low now and i still picked up the little soap-whale (when my hands were dry) and hoped that my little whispered secrets were still there and I grew up and moved away as little women do and I didn't know that they planned to sell the house until I came home for easter and by then there was a new house growing where my grandmother's house had been and I'm sad about the garden and the smell her attic held and the shelf with all the fabric but I hate that I will never know- what happened to my whale? |