Edit 1: Bedtime Clichés

[alonso ramoran]

Bedtime Clichés

Her liver-spotted hands
run warm water through our dried-out hair,

massaging soap into our scalps until
we wince as lather dribbles in our eyes

(its fragrance of green apple promises
new renditions of today, wrapped in linen).

Before we whine, she takes both thumbs
to wipe away the bubbles, crooning

"You Are My Sunshine". Today's clothes
are strewn across ceramic tiles; their fabric

is a phrase full of sand, smelling of the sea,
and ketchup-stained. Airplane and

mermaid princess-patterned incarnations,
picked by her, are folded on the sink.

Laughing like there's always a tomorrow,
our juvenescence has convinced us that

we are the idea.

Original: Bedtime Clichés

Her liver-spotted hands
run warm water through dry hair,

massaging soap into our scalps
until lather dribbles over wincing eyes.

The fragrance of green apple promises
a new age of creation. Before we whine,

she takes both thumbs to wipe away
the bubbles while she hums a lullaby.

Today's clothes are strewn across
ceramic tiles; its fabric is a phrase

full of sand, smelling of the sea, and
ketchup-stained. Incarnations picked by her

are folded on the sink. And the guise
of childhood convinces us that

we are the idea.