The guru on the radio says he prays
for one good humiliation a day.
How brave, I think, safe
for now, alone in this room,
a mug of coffee warming my hands,
safe from the memory of yesterday’s
and the threat of tomorrow’s.
He doesn’t show it off,
doesn’t know he’s being watched.
Did he have to learn this,
as the rest of us do?
And then I remember one, and
the blush of embarrassment rises in me.
Yesterday’s humiliations have not taught me all
I need to know, have not finished their work.
If tomorrow’s might, if they might
help me play like the wind, so freely,
and don the dappled coat of indifference,
if they might bring me one step
closer to what matters, then
I will pray for them, too.