The public stall the cheap bleach smell

The public stall, the cheap bleach smell,

a little girl, I knew her well

by instinct, by the way she bent,

her stomach emptying, her spirit spent.

My own hands rose, a sudden guide,

to keep the damp strands from her side.

So fine and slick, against my palm,

a fragile, unexpected balm.

The chemicals and sickness blend,

a moment I could not un-send.

That tenderness, a startling guest,

while she convulsed, I held her best.