Long Journey

I am not a fortune teller
I do not know where I will be in five or ten years time
but I do know I will have a bathtub
not for cleaning
that is the shower’s job
cleaning and thinking
no, my bathtub will be for writing
I will fill it with paper cranes and one page poems
fill it to the ankles with cold water
and soak my feet
they are tired from walking
from searching
I will grow from them like an orange tree
finches will nestle in my beard
whisper poetry to me
they will speak so many languages
when I see my wife for the first time (yes I will have a wife)
I will ask for her opinion on bathtubs
if she loves them I will love her
if she hates them I will love her less
but rededicate my life to preaching the gospel of bathtubs
the gospel of porcelain
the gospel of reconnecting with the parts of ourselves that crawled from the ocean, breathed and spoke about going back again
when I meet my wife for the first time
I will count the days until she will lay in our bathtub
on that day I will read poems
every poem in the house
she will bathe in ink and heartstrings
and we will not be able to leave that bathtub for all the poems packed tightly around us
piled high against the door
there is no moving for poems!
I will sit on the edge of the bathtub and kiss her ankles, her knees
and we will wonder
how anyone read poetry without a bathtub.

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