Bathtub Bubble Beards

An innocence unknown

to years that feel like centuries

since we splashed in the warm water

until suds overflowed onto tiles.

A joy untold,

of scrubbing off outdoor remains

- soil, grass, twigs -

until our skin shone squeaky pink.

A feeling forgotten,

for pruney, wrinkly hands,

once used to play old people,

are now mimicked in our faces’ corners.

A memory resurfaced,

as I tug on my brother’s red bristles,

remembering sisters’ bathtub bubble beards,

white as the forming streaks in his own, trimmed goatee.