Lather, Rinse, Repeat

a poem for E.B.

Lather, Rinse, Repeat

Quite often when I shower
I think of my sister cousin
(though neither of us are women
I still treasure you that way).

I remember getting into the shower
after hours of swimming in the lake
and together, as we washed off
we took the time to read

the brief, direct instruction
that the shampoo bottle said:
"Use the size of a quarter
and lather, rinse, repeat."

Holding out our hands
we wondered to each other
if we really knew
what quarter sized should be

and though it seemed suspicious
to lather, rinse, repeat
we followed the instructions
to a tee.

Tonight I really needed
to lather, rinse, repeat
and I used the same shampoo
that we used then.

I've tried so many others,
and I know that some are better,
but I keep on coming back
to that sweet smell

of rose hips, and the softness
that it brings to my fine hair.
And I love that same pink bottle
so much like those long lost days

that I'm not quite sure
I'll ever want to change.
For I like thinking of our summers,
the swims and showers that we shared,

nearly siblings, both pretending
that we knew that we were girls,
not yet knowing that we were both
something in-between.

But in those damp sweet moments
of innocence and play
all that mattered
was lather, rinse, repeat.