Writing, radio & design
Screen Shot 2019-04-01 at 13.11.28.png

Notebooks & Colour

Bathtime

IMG_8824.jpg

To bathe is to put the day to bed

In a ritual that’s handed down,

From my mother to me,

Weary, bone-tired we gently lower our newborns

We caress the water around their tiny limbs

Softly, gently, as if polishing a delicate object

Yet we know the water won’t hurt, won’t injure

It soothes and heals and calms like a balm

And these watery lessons become enshrined within us

A tantrum, a battle, an obstinate refusal

It’s the witching hour when the noisy stand-off rears its head

But the water wins again, the soapy, foamy bubbles satiate the senses, calm the frayed nerves

Any tantrum subsides,

The milky, medicinal liquid sloshes away tempestuous sentiments

Sleepy now, relaxed, bed bound they go

The water has worked her magic again.

Why to myself,

“I’m too tired for a bath, too busy to dive into a sleep-inducing watery hug”

Why do I want to linger

Why don’t I want to relax

I can hop in and out of that shower

It’s still water

It’s still cleansing me

I slowly lower myself into the eucalyptus-scented tonic

Gently, deliciously I submerge myself

I’m in another world, another womb

I’m lost and found and whole

Victoria AverillComment