This is not my grandmother’s
bathroom with the huge tub,
large enough to hold several grandchildren–
a porcelain ship with feet–
the bathroom with its huge tub
where I would stare at the angel on the wall
from inside a porcelain ship with feet,
hoping to grow wings.
I would stare at the angel on the wall,
thinking about my mother–
hoping to grow wings
in my hiding place, alone.
I’m thinking about my mother’s
bathroom, where I would sit
in my hiding place alone,
by myself–watching Cupid’s face
on the bathroom wall, where I would retreat,
away from my parents and brothers,
by myself, watching Cupid’s face
until they pounded on the door.
I hid away from my parents and brothers
and then I hid away from my children
(until they pounded on the door)–
and now I have my very own bathroom,
away from my children–
still my arms remain large enough to hold them.
I have my very own bathroom now–
but I always remember my grandmother’s.
Mish at dVerse asked us to write a poem about a meaningful object starting with “This is not a __”. I changed the “a” to “my”, and wrote a sort-of pantoum.
I don’t have much from my grandmother, but this photo traveled from her bathroom, to my mother’s, to mine.
the magic of mirrors…
K. 
Thanks. Your poem invoked memories of my grandmother’s bathroom where a similar picture resided. I now wish I had a picture of that picture, but I can always come back to this page and see yours. You don’t think we had the same grandmother do you?
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Thanks Ron. Perhaps our grandmothers overlapped…
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We always need our alone time but I’m thankful you added this verse “away from my children–
still my arms remain large enough to hold them.”
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Yes, we need both. Balance is not always easy to find.
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Such a wonderful remembrance of your grandmother’s bath, including the angel who you hoped might give you wings! Lovely write.
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Thanks Helen.
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I love those bathtubs with lion’s feet. We used to have one in our house in the north.
I can imagine a child being fascinated by that chubby cherub. Being allowed to wield a dangerous weapon probably helped.
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I hadn’t thought of that, but, yes, exactly. My grandmother was very religious, so it seems strange to me now that she owned such a thing.
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She maybe just saw a putto and didn’t ask herself what the bow and arrows signified.
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what a delightful heirloom! And love your tribute to the sanctuary bathrooms offer.
our bathroom door didn’t lock so I often enjoyed the quiet solitude of the stars in our backyard …
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We all need to find that place.
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exactly, sacred space is essential to our sanity 🙂
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I just loved the layers and repetitions of your “sort of pantoum”. The precious picture remains the constant while stories grow, children grow all around it. Beautifully done!
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Thanks Mish!
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I do remember that old bathroom… so different from anything we have today… I remember a large one actually
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It was a big bathroom, at least in my memory. Proportions change as we do.
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This is so wonderful. The lines weave this perfect cocoon of remembered comfort.
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Thanks Sun. The things that are important to us are not always the obvious ones.
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I found this a spellbinding family saga, Kerfe: so much more than just a bathtub!
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Thanks Ingrid. It’s funny sometimes what we remember. Of the rooms in my grandmother’s house, that is the most vivid.
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Wow, Even just that photo is such a rich heirloom. I don’t have anything from my grand parents, so I’m jealous 😅
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Thanks Jude. I’m lucky to have something, I know.
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