Lather

If I had known I would have made more lather.

Smell of ivory soap, clinical, clean, nothing extra.

We grab these plastic things and push out the slippery stuff

Sprinkles, then gushes of water.

We mold it through our fingers, our longing.

Clinching the lower palm, bumps on the top of our wrists

We make lather.

Smiles, happiness, memories of yesterday

Lather.

We claim all of it, the white ephemeral transformative spiritual foam.

The smell.

The fading.

We relish in what we create

Lather.

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2 Comments Add yours

  1. anumshafique says:

    Beautiful imagery… I could almost smell the clean scent of the foamy spirituality bubbling out of your words! 🙂

    Like

    1. brianlragsdale says:

      Thank you, it is always nice to hear from my readers…..I can still evoke the smell of ivory scent, it must be stored very deeply in my amygdala…….even though I haven’t used it in years.

      Like

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