Muses

The bathtub voice fries onions, kicks leaves, likes pooh sticks. The bathtub voice takes pottery classes and noodles around with clay. She likes Van Morrison above all other music. Her sentences begin with "look!" Yesterday she planted a moss garden in an old olive oil jar, with two kinds of moss, a pine cone, a lichen-y stick, and a stone. She is twelve and hangs but hangs out with the grownups, like I did and still do. She likes hot baths best of all. In all these things, she writes poetry.

And there is the warrior companion. Four wings cover his face. He bears a whirling, flaming sword. The warrior companion keeps the bathtub voice safe, though she doesn't know about him. He stands in front of the gate to her world. Above all, fights to keep the silly, crazy, and embarrassing in the final draft. He writes too, but only the odd word of ancient origin.

Of course, usually these guys are busy on their own, and it's just me sucking on my pen.