I only half heard the continuous splash <br />Of the water falling wearily into the tub <br />From the far away, invisible, silver faucet. <br />(some distant part of me, half thought that <br />it sounded exactly as things do in dreams) <br />And I barely felt the water warming then <br />As it closed in around me, cradling me… <br />I was too busy contemplating how heavy <br />The book had suddenly become in my hands. <br />Heavy it was with voices, countless voices, <br />Begging, each of them, to be heard - <br />The New American Poets of the 90’s <br />Were crying out. <br /> <br />Wet handed, I flipped from page to page <br />To hear little girl Molly whisper from the chair <br />Followed by the sound of Li-Young’s cleaver <br />Contemptuously splitting her poem in two. <br />Voice for voice, page by page <br />I fell to them – listening to the echoes <br />Of long ago and yesterday and never-will-be. <br />It was Richard, I think, who first sounded like me. <br />(“not at all by design had I lingered” <br />there, half expecting the tub to overflow) <br />And when Richard told me that he may disappear <br />If he simply closed his eyes, I closed mine <br />To see if I would. <br /> <br />But it wasn’t until glorious page one fifty one <br />That I found Jonathan and fell madly in love <br />As he first rambled simple to profound <br />Before turning profound to something obvious. <br />I wondered if others had been able to hear him <br />Amongst the eighty nine other insistent voices <br />Like Norman, Linda and especially Beckian <br />(who used lovely half speak to smash clouds <br />Open like fruit, bringing finally then the rain) <br />Deciding it didn’t matter – I drew myself up <br />And stepped out of the tub, renewed. <br />I smiled at my reflection, knowing exactly <br />What I must do.<br /><br />Christine Austin Cole<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/cleansed/
