by Carolyn Martin
When resistance is gone, so are the demons.
—Milarepa
Thanks to that plucky holy man,
I’m happy to report they are packing up.
I filched his trick: invite them to live in harmony.
Without spikes of adrenaline, boredom did them in.
Where will you go? I’m curious.
Anywhere, they laugh, humans are.
They ask to leave some stuff behind:
a ratty robe, broken plates, piles
of unopened mail, volumes
of explosive rants, files
of rejection slips, narratives
I’ve acted out for years.
On second thought, I try. Feel free to stay
until you clean your remnants out.
They roll their eyes—resisting
my naïveté—and suggest
I lock the doors and meditate.
