Remembering

In the early 90s I lived in DC and worked at Arena Stage. I had three lovers, all at the same time. I took African dance class. The teacher was one of my lovers. He was so strong he could lift me in the shower against the wall with my arms around his neck and legs around his hips, the warm water in full force. It was fun but awkward. My mother came to visit. She was in decline. I met her and her wheelchair at the airport. We came home to my DuPont Avenue rental. When it was time to shower, we both got into the tub and I soaped her up as she sat on a short stool. She had very little pubic hair. I had a big dark mass. It was the era before waxing became popular in America. She was hard to hold onto like a big slimy fish. When I got her out to stand, briefly, on the bathmat, she slipped through my fingers and I flung my naked body onto the mat to catch hers and shield her from a fall, and we ended up, two naked slippery wet women on top of one another laugh-crying at the love and the horror of it all. 

Erica Marks recently retired from a 40-year career in fundraising to focus on her literary vocation. Her current project, What Comes After, reflects on widowhood and loss. Her work recently appeared in The Poetry Distillery. She holds an M.A. in Arts Administration and lives in the Hudson Valley.

A Song for Erica