Palms like bold suns
Turmeric stained and soap-resistant:
Watch her undress on the bathroom mat,
Shivering a little, the mottled light
On a breast's curve, her lumpish thighs;
Clothes in a heap on scratched plastic.
Compact, I squeeze into a silent corner;
My mouth sombre, unquestioning,
I watch her scrub at palms like suns,
Displayed yellow and certain with strange delight.
Mother turned,
Her body full, her yellow palms,
Solid-calfed fulness, her well-used being,
A smile delicate enough to frighten:
I run downstairs to find the true sun.
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