Looking Deep
"A rose is a rose is a rose."
Gertrude Stein
They clip one of my roses,
those steel arms that reach
to grasp my trash can
and fling its contents
into a natural-gas vehicle,
not like the open garbage trucks
that made us kids hold noses and say,
What has four wheels and flies?
Thich Nhat Hanh says look deep:
see the rose in the garbage,
see the garbage in the rose.
A rose is not a rose is a rose.
In June
Jacarandas bloom,
leaving nearby trees
green with envy.
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The Ins and Outs of Hot Yoga, 1995
An Indian guru, who teaches
yoga in Beverly Hills,
speaks at the St. Louis Hilton
and I'm eager to hear him.
On stage in his beige silk suit
and beige patent-leather shoes, he frowns:
the room feels cold at eighty-five degrees.
Studios must be over one hundred.
His wife wears mink to stay warm
while he lectures on the third eye —
forgiveness and compassion.
His words touch me and at break,
before he shows yoga poses, I ask,
In India, did you know Mother Theresa?
He strips to a bikini and sits in full lotus.
Of course I know her. She worships me.
When she was a nobody, I let an elephant
put his foot on my chest
and raised money for her.
She still calls.
Now, I tell her I'm too busy.
Disenchanted, I ask,
Do you believe what you just taught?
He ripples his belly muscles
and rubs his thumb over his fingertips,
Me, I only believe in money—
you Americans, you taught me.
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