sappho when raised southern baptist

She wades through the small space           of your bathroom on her knees, 

hands hovering above your scalp.           She lathers your shampoo 

between her fingers like an apology:           opalescent bubbles popping through the white foam 

saying I’m sorry in an array of final words.           Last week, she told Momma she thought she loved you 

and Momma said           no girl is worth that hot eternity. Each bubble 

       is its own betrayal. 

While you sit still in the water,          y’all talk about how you both were born in the wrong place 

but found the right people. She massages her hands          through your brunette hair drenched black 

and tries not to notice your naked body           distorted through the rippling water 

         falling from the faucet.

When she finishes shampooing,           she puts her hands between your shoulders and collar bones

and baptizes you in the shallow pool with your arms crossed over your bare chest.

She then dunks her hands into the water,       watches suds bound from her fingers,

     pumps conditioner onto her palms and repeats.

When she’s done, she hastily dries her hands with the towel           hung on the door before handing it to you. 

Through a slighted gaze,           she watches the towel trace 

over your velvet body and ruffle silk strands of hair           with soap still clinging 

to the webs between her pruned fingers.          But instead of anything else, you reach for her

and she lets you.

In the liminal space between the tub, you and her,         y’all are crafting a new religion. 

She’s got her clean hands all over your clean body and y’all are your own gods.

She’s taking each touch like an inhale,           pulling away like the exhale. All of this loving is living: 

             breathing and body, you and her.

Each sound is cushioned           by the orchestra of insects outside awaiting the light.

She knows she could never find the right words           to pray in Momma’s house

but your skin on hers is close enough to holy.           Tonight, 

                      y’all are some grand display of worship.