Inner Rage

One time as a kid at school I shut my eyes all day,

feigning blindness, clowning for a smile or at least a smirk.

I ended that day by leaping into the pool, and

the cold water shoved open my eyes with a breath.

Other times I stole money from kids’ coats in the coatroom.

I smashed my toys, slashed flowers down with a stick, and

broke bottles against the head of the sun.

Decades later, I shut my eyes at a meditation retreat, holding

in my breath, listening to someone’s heavy breathing behind me,

remembering in it my kid brother’s arrogant, heavy breathing at night.