Impermanence

I am a trained illiterate.

Afraid of the monkeys in the valley.

They weren’t there to block my way, they just lived there.

Logic is weak against nature. It breeds fear because it cannot dissect itself.

I was so afraid to cross to the waterfall on the other side.

Cowardly, I turned back to the little shack,

hidden under the vastness of an unclear promise.

It was a place you’d notice only while crossing,

but it made you feel like you’d earned some rest.

A monk sat beside me and a woman I didn’t love.

She wanted me to cross to the other side.

But I wasn’t ashamed of defeat anymore.

I was with a woman I didn’t love at a place

where I once laughed with one I did.

The crackling of dry leaves from the skirmish

of monkeys sank into the whistle of the valley breeze,

and I felt a sudden chill through my spine

that made the sunset feel ominous.

There was the warmth of the tea cup

in my nervous palms just before

the fracture of glass echoed my self-loathing.

I offered to pay for an entire set.

The tea maker generously accepted my offer.

Silence. Just silence.

The monk patted my shoulder, said impermanence, and left.