Skin to skin, I hold my tiny daughter,
Curls brush my chin, a dampened delight,
Her small hand breaks the bubbles on water,
Nestled in my lap, her body so slight,
Our bedtime bath will soften coming night.
This cherub I wash, her skin pearly pink,
Ignores my flaws and knows not what I think,
She giggles, her toes tickle aging knees,
I’ll treasure this moment, lest the clock wink,
Aware of self: soft, loving, strong and free.
We rise from the tub, both sleepy and warm,
I wrap her in a towel, kiss her face,
The mirror reveals all, my girth and form,
How broad now my hips and I’ll not erase
the marks of motherhood, almost like lace.
Gone is the girl, the flesh of ivory,
The framed mother is no Aphrodite,
And yet from my reflection I’ll saunter
for my body is blessed and I can see
these purple scars are badges of honor.