Bathing by Firelight

On Sunday nights in winter
as a treat, mother would fill
a tin bath with water and
set before the fire I would sit,
far away from the cavernous
coldness of our Victorian bathroom,
where pipes played tunes and
monsters lurked beneath
showing only their clawed feet.

I would sit up to my waist
while firelight gave blushes
to my skin and the smell of
camomile was woven
thread by thread as she poured
from the yellow and white bucket,
cascades of fresh clean water
that danced on my pointed
shoulder tips and tickled like
raindrops down a windowpane.

There was room for two - just
as my sister and I sat,
tips of toes touching and
the smell of Christmas pine
that still crackles in my mind
of Sunday nights in winter
and a tin bath filled with
warmth and love and water.



Poetry by Elle The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 1004 times
Written on 2013-10-05 at 19:06

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Peter Humphreys The PoetBay support member heart!
I am just overwhelmed by memories of the flickering fire and the splashing and the feeling safe. A beautiful poem. Peter
2013-10-07


shells
Just delightful Elle, you describe it so gently, it brings back memories of sharing with my brother, young enough not to worry about gender and my own two daughters, happy/arguing/splashing.
2013-10-07



This is lovely:)
We never had a tin bath jut an ordinary one but as tiny babes it was the sink.
In the bath yes with my sister which was fun
thank you for bringing back the memories:)
2013-10-06


countryfog
This sent me searching through my "treasure box" for a precious old photo of my very young daughter and her two cousins sharing the bathtub . . . no doubt they would be very embarrassed by it now but for me it is the essence and remembrance of an innocence and a simpler time long gone, one my daughter, who has no children and wants none, will never relive.
2013-10-06


Nils Teodor The PoetBay support member heart!
Very beautiful
a joy to read
2013-10-05