Daily Meditation

I sit -
in my lotus of solitude
and observe as thoughts unfurl
like saffron petals,
rise and disperse,
in twists of sunlight and dust.

Memory arises of conversation
with a kitchenhand
of indeterminate gender.

I said, 'You can never
make something clean
in a dirty place.'

Together we emptied out his dishwater,
lifted handfuls of meat scraps, bone,
vegetable peels, from the drain,
and scrubbed - sink, bench, walls, taps,
rinsed off plates and pots,
then refilled the sink
with hot soapy water.

I watched as he took this as a metaphor
and applied it to his life -

father who beat him,
stepfather who belittled him,
mother too timid to protect him.

Watched him scrub down all his benches
till his pots sparkled in the sunshine.