Wednesday, April 11, 2007

Here is a poem I wrote in August, but that I just updated a few weeks ago. I tried to add in more textural definition and pay attention to detail.

Watching Water from the Bath and the Sky from the Porch
I sit in my bathtub
(It is white, smooth, and porcelain like)
Squishing bubbles through my fingers
(They are white, smooth, and porcelain like)
Watching one drop of water drip
(drip, then silence, drip, then silence, just like that)
Every few seconds from the faucet lip.

Before me
They sat here and wondered too
At all the mysteries
Behind time and water.

I sit on my porch
(We painted the wood green. White columns and white railings, too)
Dipping bread into steaming soup,
(The bread tasted sturdy, and the soup burnt my tongue)
Watching pale clouds on heavens floor
While beads of rain steadily pour
(Not night time yet)

And now night takes over
And I watch moon flowers open their faces.
The clouds move
(Have you seen clouds move too?)
And they’re dark with nights approach.

But I sit and watch.
Maybe if I do not move
(I stop)
I can stop the clouds.

The moon comes out
And I want to reach my hand to it
And grab onto it,
But, I know I’d be disappointed
That its closeness is an illusion.

In the morning, I know I will step out of my bed
And look into the mirror
And that I will look older than the night before
And that before me, they sat here and wondered too.

1 comment:

mespeicher said...

I read this at 7:30 this morning. It leaves me with the knowledge that that bathtub, maybe in another view in the past, has held captive someone else while the world turns around them. It's an ancient ritual. That's what you are telling me. The soothing drip drip of the faucet tells of our inability to control even things that are of our own creation. This is a nice piece to read.