8:05 AM PST - Jan. 15, 2004
revelation
i keep thinking of a bathtub the one in Hass' poem where he's giving his daughter of two years a bath and interrogating her with great seriousness through a yellow rubber duck. who are you? Kristen. no, kristen, who are you? i don't know. mommy. daddy. Leif. and i think i want this experience also, this opening of the universe to me like a sink of clogged gray water and my son the winding snake into my brain, oh great wisdom, oh lucid revelation, insert nice big words here so that i might sound even remotely poetic on this day of great gloom and vapidness and so i give my son a bath and i am sad. i do not have a yellow rubber duck. only a bright pink bottle of Mr. Bubble. and so i play with him, bubble head, bubble beard, and he laughs and giggles and then i ask him hiding behind the bubbly pink bottle who are you? and i can tell right away he is destined for a long and prosperous career in the field of medicine or law or professional wrestling because in his own great wisdom and intelligence, he, with calm alacrity, snatches the bottle from my hand and bonks me on my brow.
