Bath Time, by Lawren Dame

We always had a ritual after my mom gave me baths
She’d ruffle my silky scalp of dark black curls
With a towel, then wrap it
Around my head so I looked like the Virgin
Mother and sing a song:
Heeeey Mary, whatcha gonna call that pretty little baby
I think I’ll call him one thing, I think I’ll call him Jeeeesus
It was an old joke, a movie reference
That I never understood, but never failed to laugh
Anyway.

And then quick I’d be wrapped in my towel

And we’d run downstairs
Into my father’s office where I’d screech
DADDY DADDY do I smell like a
Rose? Only it came out like Wose
And he’d play along, take a sniff at my wet dark curls
and say yes, yes, my little Wose
And then back up the stairs we’d go, mom and I
To where my insulin pump awaited me

That little black metallic box

That artificial pancreas
It my savior, I its slave
And right before my mother helped me plug it back

Into the socket protruding from my flesh

I whipped away my towel, no more Virgin, no more Wose
To dance around, this happy naked whirling kid
And my mother never understood, but never failed to laugh
Anyway.

And once she asked me why I danced
and I looked up, smiling; adoring Virgin, little Wose
And simply said Mama I’m dancing because
I’m pretending that I don’t have
Diabetes. And then she got this look on her face that I,
In turn, didn’t understand
Because I was just so happy in that instant to be
Free.