Too frail for a flannel now

she stands beneath a peal of rain.

Her daughter wields the watering can.

The water has to be just right -

elbow-measured. In this way

the tables turn, mother becomes child.

There’s a delicacy, feeling safe,

now privacy has gone. She’d thought

that seeing mother naked

would be wrong.

But, carers are dismissed

and as the water kisses grey

and sunken flesh it’s a last rite,

an honour for the daughter,

who is watering her mother.

A naked mother turning

lifts her face up like a flower.

Nearing the end, come to a time

when even water hurts.