We bathe our daughter,
a prayer for every part,
as if we were washing her
with song.
Fingers frail as blades of grass.
Her thousands of eggs,
already inside her.
1999
We bathe our daughter,
a prayer for every part,
as if we were washing her
with song.
Fingers frail as blades of grass.
Her thousands of eggs,
already inside her.
1999