I bathe you in rose water today,
reluctant rivlets flowing over cold skin;
Rose water mixed with a daughter's salty tears,
trickling into the creases and crevices of death.
You'll go to your grave smelling of
crushed flower petals,
adding your frangrance to the heavenly bouquet--
to be breathed in by and angels,
and offered into the very hands of God.
I bathe you in rose water today.
Homemaker, wife, mother, Christian, poet and
fledgling barista, among other things. This particular poem was written
in memorium to my best friend's mother, whose body she lovingly washed
on the day of her death.