A friend taught her how to pass the time: flip through

the hymn book and add “in the bathtub”

after any song title: How Great Thou Art…in the Bathtub

Now Let Us Rejoice…in the Bathtub

 

Did You Think to Pray in the Bathtub?  Know This,

That Every Soul Is Free in the Bathtub.

An hour of speeches broken up by hymns,

prayers and eating Christ’s blood and body (blessed,

 

white Wonder Bread and a doll’s cup

of water for each worthy member).

She no longer sits through church meetings or questions

her questioning, though often hums those hymns

 

around the house, slips holy

ingrained choruses into a tub of hot water.

Ears immersed, she can hear the sounds

of her own choir.  The heart’s bahdum, bah-dum

 

bahdum, too fast for its own good.  Rejoice a Glorious Sound

Is Heard…in the Bathtub.  From a gurgle

 to a shout, rustling empty

stomach.  Whooshes of breath tunnel in and out.  Hard enough

 

to simply sit still, then left to a porcelain amphitheater—

Where Can I Turn for Peace?  In the bathtub

thoughts thud and whirl.  Come Along, Come Along

With All the Power of Heart and Tongue.

 

Maintenance of this submerged body

too tough, too much Master the Tempest Is Raging.

Not enough still, small whisper:

Ye Simple Souls Who Stray

 

Let Us All Press On.

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