Lake Washington
Oct 06 2010 Filed in: Jims Poems
Lake Washington
I have a friend
Who bathes in Lake Washington.
He thinks it’s the Ganges,
And who am I to argue with him.
Every morning he stands in the sacred waters,
Singing and rejoicing.
In his daily baptism.
He hums mantras to the morning sun.
Peeking over the Cascades,
And hoists his load of suffering
On clean shoulders.
Woman do not do their wash here.
Men do not brush their teeth here.
The mournful do not burn their dead.\
On the ghats of Lake Washington.
I wonder what makes any water sacred,
I should ask my friend.
Perhaps he will know.
Perhaps it is him.
I have a friend
Who bathes in Lake Washington.
He thinks it’s the Ganges,
And who am I to argue with him.
Every morning he stands in the sacred waters,
Singing and rejoicing.
In his daily baptism.
He hums mantras to the morning sun.
Peeking over the Cascades,
And hoists his load of suffering
On clean shoulders.
Woman do not do their wash here.
Men do not brush their teeth here.
The mournful do not burn their dead.\
On the ghats of Lake Washington.
I wonder what makes any water sacred,
I should ask my friend.
Perhaps he will know.
Perhaps it is him.