Wipe Away

    by Nicholas Andrew Froumis

I wipe your face and recall the days gone by,

a messy feeding with sauce remnants everywhere.

The spoon twisting in a hand still learning to grasp,

joyous smiles above the carnage of a filthy tray.

A brush across your cheek with your bib,

your natural skin color seen once more.

Running ahead you fall and skin your knee,

the tears stream like a great waterfall.

My thumbs mimic the windshield wiper,

you recover and on you run un-phased.

Preschool days and you can hardly wait,

crusty milk residue from a hasty breakfast.

You twist and turn in bitter protest,

as the wet wipe finds its target.

One last birthday to wear a frosting mustache,

long before you could grow one on your own.

I pass a towel and you wipe yourself,

a simple gesture stuck in my mind.

And now I stare at that unchanging smile,

forever adorning the marble marker.

I wipe the dirt off a face that will never age,

in the only way I have left to care for you.

© 2016  Nicholas Andrew Froumis

Nicholas Andrew Froumis is a full-time optometrist practicing in Sunnyvale, CA.  He has been published previously in scientific literature and now finds his first publication in a literary journal.  He lives in San Jose, CA with his wife and daughter.