she considered herself to be a Buddhist, engaged in battle
with the hardback chair she was forced into. those creamed colored walls
were her prison for one hour. her legs wouldn’t stop
juddering, like a carbonated beverage, shaken too much
her foot twitched as if it were
ricocheting, in a pinball machine. hands fidgeted.
fingering the cup, touching the pen
twirling the hair, groping the phone
it’s always enough and never
it’s without and yet full
it’s the peace of a Buddha
it’s the mind of war.
Glimpses of the Divine 