Early Evening Musings
I sit in my bathtub,
lights off,
radio on,
shower curtain closed,
water warm,
and I wonder:
Is this what it was like
during those formative nine months?
No light to illuminate
the temperate fluids
encasing my body;
a faint, indistinguishable
sound, filling my ears
with an incomprehensible
something.
I seem to be lacking
a life sustaining cord,
but it rings,
and I see its urgency
illuminate the room.
I answer, only to be greeted
with the sound of
an automated voice
reminding me
life has a price.
Moments later, once again covered,
once again part of this world,
I walk across the living room,
dodging old magazines, who’s pages
once informed me of
current events, but now remind
me of previous truths,
previous realities,
previous hours spent
trying to come to
an understanding of
what it is
to be.
The clock reads 7:00 p.m.,
and I become aware of
the gentle creeks of
my feet meeting aged floors,
and I worry of disturbing
those below.
But it is Friday.
Faint exaltations
radiating from beneath
indicate a flavor of the week
has been chosen.
Hungers are being satisfied.
I am prematurely tired.
Lying in bed,
I interrogate God
before offering myself
to sleep.
Answered by neither,
I am left pondering tomorrow
to the sound of dusty fan blades
slicing air.