The first washing of the day, before my shower;
Is a tentative wash, knowing more water will be flowing shortly,
Over gray hair, body and a general waking up.
Here, hands are the tool, not the target.
Then later, not just before and after meals,
Comes the real handwashing.
Sanjay tells us how to wash like a surgeon,
To do the front and the backs,
As a child needs instruction for teeth.
We never knew how to really wash them.
Then, handwashing, proper handwashing that is, needs patience.
Not here the symbolism of Pilate,
Or its many metaphors.
But a real handwashing,
Like our hands are clean.
Devoid of germs,
Ready to touch something,
If only disposable gloves,
We are ready to … keep our distance.
This washing is personal,
We only wash our child’s hands,
Not each others,
And yet …
This timed wash of two birthday songs,
Or One Our Father,
Is a member of an orchestra,
One playing a song of safety,
A willingness of a heart.
This song is devoid of color, country or creed.
A song which all humanity plays,
Every time a faucet is turned,
So begins a melody of holiness and care.