The Proud Grasshopper
by
Radiance Angelina Petro

Kingyu Osho used to dance around his bowl of rice
before sitting down to eat, much to the chagrin
of the rest of the sangha.

You are your own ledge, and there is no need
to rack your brain about whether or not to jump.
Why scold yourself for anything?

We all hold the same string, and every night matures
into day, and who are we to judge those who pierce
the nostrils of an ox?

Face any direction, and leap. It’s OK to land
in the center of the circle, but you needn’t capture the tiger,
or try to tell the difference between dragons and snakes.

The universe expands, like love expands, and hate
eventually arrives at emptiness, and the clam swallows
the moon, and if you pick up a toad it will pee in your hands,

and somewhere a rhinoceros swishes its tail. And at some point
you will need to wash your own bowl, and the Buddha will
hold out a flower and nod towards the monastery of the trees,

where the problem of death disappears into the sutras
of your own dancing, and look—a grasshopper
is watching you with pride.