honeysuckle: poems by colleen cosette goodman

milk head and st cecilia

I sit by the tub and soak my hair in milk,
Head straining from the damp weight, red in white turned over and over.
I sit on the floor and I think about how many things have changed, think of how much better I have gotten, Cecilia resting her hand on my shoulder saying,
"Sing more, young one."
My head in my hands, hair wet and silk, notes bumbling out my mouth.
Today I do not think of her, and it is okay.
Today I get up in the morning, and it is okay.
It is the September I do not get skinny. It is the September where I grow and laugh and scrape up pad Thai onto a plastic fork.
I sing and God listens.

The twenty-fifth of September, 2017.