Yet like grandfatherI bathe before the village crowthe dry chlorine watermy only Gangesthe naked Chicago bulba cousin of the Vedic sunslap soap on my backlike fatherand thinkin proverbslike meI wipe myself drywith an
Sears turkish towellike motherI hear faint morning song(though here it
Japanese)and three clear stringsnextdoorthrough kitchenclatterlike my little daughterI play shyhand over crotchmy body not yet fullof thoughts novelsand childrenI hold my peepeelike my little sonplay garden hosein and outthe bathtublike my grandsonI look upunbornat myselflike my greatgreat-grandsonI am not yetmay never bemy futuredependenton severalpeopleyetto come
