dont you feel like when you drowned

our baby you did not leave

enough water in the tub,

barely six inches.

your dress was wet then.

i remember it stuck to

your inner thigh like cellophane

around a greased watermelon we

used to throw into the pool

and let the children fight over

who could carry it to the other side

kicking bruises into fresh chins.

his mother died

a year later when

i thought

i knew loss.