The one with the cockroach
Still, right there, in the bathroom,
I stoop down low with a paper towel
a select-a-size, diamond texture and rose design
wasteful, but built for –well, not this, exactly–
A roach, upturned on the tiled floor, dead
the shrouded figure, not a plague and not a sign
so as not to touch,
I smashed it –first thing handy–
with a Pyrex measuring cup,
a sodden wet mash.
and threw it in the trash
what i’m saying is it wasn’t the way I wanted to start my day
a barefooted death squad in a funeral march
in lieu of flowers –should have been composted, I note– yesterday’s banana peels
hours later I will still feel the vibration of
and I won’t understand –yet– (yet, because I am hopeful)
–a twisted ankle
–a gritted-teeth “shut up”
–a broken mason jar, blue, from the woman that named you
I don’t get to tell you that I saved a bee yesterday
and talked sweetly to a spider
and whisper, to the mirror
“I am not also this.”
3 thoughts on "The one with the cockroach"
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I love this so so so much.
I’ve been there, saving some, killing others but apologizing while doing so.
Asking myself important questions about the reason for the difference.
The choice to kill
Or let live.
One of my favorites this month