Sunday, April 6, 2014

what I read in the bath today at noon, alone in the house for hours, the first bath I've had in the house for over thirteen years:

My Life Was The Size Of My Life

My life was the size of my life.
Its rooms were room-sized.
its soul was the size of a soul.
In its background, mitochondria hummed,
above it sun, clouds, snow,
the transit of stars and planets.
It rode elevators, bullet trains,
various airplanes, a donkey.
It wore socks, shirts, its own ears and nose.
It ate, it slept, it opened
and closed its hands, its windows.
Others, I know, had lives larger.
Others, I know, had lives shorter.
The depth of lives, too, is different.
There were times my life and I made jokes together.
There were times we made bread.
Once, I grew moody and distant.
I told my life I would like some time,
I would like to try seeing others.
In a week, my empty suitcase and I returned.
I was hungry, then, and my life,
my life, too, was hungry, we could not keep
our hands off our clothes on our tongues from

Jane Hirshfield


  1. Ah, a bath alone. sounds heavenly - good for you!

  2. "our hands off our clothes on our tongues from" ... is that really the last line?

    1. Yes, Christy. I had to read it a couple of times to really think it was right and then it was so right.

  3. That last line is so unsettling and exciting because it starts to push the tempo and then....ACK! Man, I wish I had found poetry through you years and years ago. I always hated it and shied away from reading it, but you always bring the best ones to light. Thank you.

  4. You've inspired me to take a bath in our great claw foot tub. The one I haven't bathed in in years.



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