Small piece of white, marbled soap,
Sitting neatly beneath the china bowl.
Still and untouched, it rests on a clean, pressed towel.
Small piece of soap, symmetrical, angled and dry,
Sharing space with a small scrubbing brush,
Soft bristled and worn.
Small piece of soap, shadowed by a wooden stand,
Stark and stained by simple washing,
And silent shaving.
Small piece of soap, passed from hand to hand,
Used to cleanse, yet situated in a room where death lingered
In quiet nights disturbed by the coughing of consumptive lungs.
Small piece of soap, used before dinner,
Lovingly prepared for a close family
Keeping the cold at bay by dreaming of distant lands.
Small piece of soap, shared by motherless children,
Who reached beyond their isolation,
Letting their imaginations live to touch our future.
Teedy Dawn
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/soap-by-the-washbowl/
