Surrogate
Surrogate
When I fill a hot water bottle now
I feel my mother’s presence very near –
A little ritual that she showed me how
To follow, and it still holds something dear.
Hot water bottles now are just like then:
The ribbed side and the plain, the rubber smell,
The threaded stopper with the washered end –
A time capsule with a secret to tell.
I watched the sacred art of safely filling
That reservoir of warmth against the cold
And how to stopper tightly without spilling
Those drops of water we both knew could scald.
So close and gentle in my memory
She holds it still, as never she held me.
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