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The Compassionate Saint

 

Sitting here late into the night

working at the poems, i get up and

go to the kitchen for a drink of water.

 

I turn on the light and there he is,

one of the giant roaches which

come with the territory of Arkansas.

 

All of a sudden years of spiritual practice

sitting on the meditation cushion in the morning dark

sends a rush of compassion through me and

 

while the world is in flames, nations

are bombing one another, terrorists are

strapping bombs to their bodies and walking

 

into crowded cafes,

pullin the pin without remorse, and

brutal tyrants are crucifying the innocent

 

in the name of whatever gods are

currently most useful to them,

i let the roach scurry under the toaster and

 

i do no pursue it for the kill.  And

i used to think that meditation

was not useful.

 

    red hawk