Litkicks Message Board Archive

Sunday at a Buddhist Temple

Posted to Poetry




Heading up the
shaved path and walking towards
tall thin grass the color of fine grain
I saw nothing so peculiar as faint
deer hooves of the animals
living at Wat Dhammasala
I was still eating sticky rice almost as
sturdy as the many yeared crescent trees surrounding us in no particular order
They willed themselves to be planted
there, as they willed themselves to grow
even and tall

Cait watched and protected a
Japanese beetle, letting it crawl through
her fingers and plant itself at the tips
We both walk slowly together with the
others, patiently putting our
boots to the ground more
peacefully than conquerors
Kissing the vegetation with
our heels and being mesmerized by the wire
windowed huts wooded in weak stone like
stance

We went back to the mediation hall for the
talk by monks waded in fabric, which
bent and wrinkled
fabulously like a Renaissance
painting
Sitting upright statues of
Siddhartha seemed to greet
us with gold faces rounder than a baby’s
They chanted in Pali
I suppose, it wasn’t a concern
The words, whatever they were echoed
each other and by others symmetrically the
same
When the abbot spoke in English, he let his
vowels drift with a purpose
beyond me
And the sun behind him cast his
body in shadows
Something was
speaking to me