I ZAZEN
When I first floundered in
no one knew me
not even myself
staggering under a Saratoga trunk
crammed with humiliations
bottled like urine samples
nailkegs of anger
carbons of abusive letters
chemistry quizzes with F’s
even the horse I never had
and two casseroles left over
from the dime-a-dip supper.
No one remarked that
I had brought too much.
donated by opulent cousins
my feet encased in cement
ever since the failure
of the patio project
and my mouth full of barbs
as an old trout.
No one praised my appearance.
The trunk fell off my back
disgorging its unusual contents
at my stone feet
which also came off.
The fur hats tumbled like a
motheaten avalanche
burying a small monk.
No one noticed.
My sweat began to dry
I folded myself into one piece
NO ONE …
In a midden
Of plastic cars and dollcrap
The Roshi sits like the Sierras.
He questions, “Koan?”
I emit the miasmas of my culture.
The Roshi clears the air with his fan.
He extends branches.
His eyebrows perch there.
He shakes his bell.
Backing out
I fall into the toybox.