The Bubble Angel
for Darcy Clarisse
She sought out a small lesion
or freckle on the skin
to touch with the tip of her finger
while she sucked her thumb
as if it formed some magical link,
served some umbilical function.
Other times it would be her hand
up our sleeves much in the same way,
as if to link up to our souls.
Often she was like a pink flower,
or more like the ghost of a pink flower
floating quietly through the house
intent on her own mysterious purpose.
She spent hours in the bath
floating on her back,
only a pink smiley face
protruding from a shiny halo of bubbles.
Her hair floated straight out
like orange sea anemones.