in seconds we mutter a thousand verses
and jog our fingers down plastic beads,
though we know that none of the psalms or hymns
can save us from the way we claw onto each other so
we don’t feel the winds of the fall.
like crescendos, i grow, only to scrape my knees
on the harrowing accents you release from the bow of a
…pause
—
because when all the world’s a bathtub
and my ears are steeped in foam,
all i can hear is the lingering doom that screeches
before the plug escapes the geyser
wrote this with natasha during geography class. we had a geography teacher who would often speak in funny metaphors, so we decided to write a poem based on anything interesting she would say that day. i remember she tried to illustrate the concept of global atmospheric circulation by calling the world a bathtub, and prevailing surface winds the downward swirl of drained bathwater. it was perfect.
precious 