24 February 2013
I'd like to drop the sentimentality,
write something honest. I'd like to share the moment
when the baby was enjoying her bubble bath.
I was listening to Billy Joel, remembering
how it felt, years ago, to be a pianist--an amateur
as always, but a musician nonetheless.
It's very like being a carpenter,
a silversmith,
a seamstress for a moment,
though it's hard now to find a moment to decide
which point of interest to choose, where to excel.
I'm still a Jack of all the trades I encounter,
a master of none of them. Even this poem
comes haltingly, and I second guess the content,
the form,
the poet.
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