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
a slip

hours later I will still feel the vibration of
and I won’t understand –yet– (yet, because I am hopeful)
why like
–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.”