Listening In

 

In the locker room a mother

and small-voiced daughter enter

adjoining showers.  I hear

their voices rise above their

twin cascades.  Hear the ping

on the metal divide between

their matching work to remove

this morning's ocean salt and all

of the beach that clings. The daughter

calls out to let her mother know

she was able to reach the soap. 

To let her know how the water

helps her rinse off all the soap.

All by herself. 

She inquires if her mother likes

her shower too and her mother

laughs an answer which flows

above, below the divider to reach

the child's upturned face. 

Her soapy feet. 

I have had only sons and never

minded until this steamy room.

Not a longing, really, but a blossoming

a mother and daughter happened

to include me in.

Patricia O’Brien