Pondering
A stink bug has crawled onto my yoga mat.
We are eye-to-eye since I am in crocodile pose—
makarasana—lying on my belly, right cheek
resting on my stacked hands. His wings
are at ease against his back
like bronze armor. He looks at me.
I look at him considering options.
If I squish him the stench of rotting pine
will permeate the studio. Besides
I have nothing to squish him with
save my hand or my yoga block.
And what if he’s a reincarnate? Not
my mother, who would come back
as a fashionable poodle
groomed to the nines. Or my father,
who would come back
as something diligent and productive,
an ant perhaps. I did have a cousin
I could imagine as a stink bug.
Besides, squishing it would not be
the loving kindness I am trying to practice
and could screw up my karma.
No, squishing is not an option.
On my next exhale I purposely blow
in his direction. He gets the message, turns,
synchronizes his six tiny legs,
and waddles off toward the woman
wearing pink and orange paisley yoga pants.
I close my eyes and breathe, one step
closer to nirvana.