There is no lotus
without the mud
—Thich Nhat Hanh
I never asked you
for a flower. I prefer
my floorboards
clean. Who’s to spout
what is and isn’t
worth it? Spare me all
your Mahayana
prattle.
There cannot
be redemption
without the blood.
Now is not the
moment to be queasy.
Am I spared
your skyward rapture
if I confess my
fear of flight? I’d make a
lousy eagle. Hiding in the
bushes with my
baldness.
There’s no living
without a pogrom.
Tell me of Treblinka,
the measuring
of skulls, books &
bodies burning in
a pillar, as if the smoke
cannot ascend
without the fire.
Infernos can only
consume
what once had breath.
There’s no poem
without the stone
in Yucatan. Tell me
how you’d dodge
Dakotaraptor, groceries
in your arms, messing
up your Converse
in the mire,
berated by your wife
for leaky eggs.
Our son is ever-
curious, asking if Godzilla
would exist
if not for Fat Man.
Not Toho’s green
behemoth—the guy in the
rubber suit, bowing to Hirohito
in its stead, hearing that
he’s soiled the rug again;
that he’s footing
the bill himself, and if it
happens one more time
he’ll learn what
being barefoot
really means, dashing
his heel on rocks
like some beguiled
Son of God, knowing rain
would not be rain
if not for drought, wings are
only wings
because a colossus
wouldn’t slow its
ruthless chase.
Andreas Gripp
June 30, 2026
Dakotaraptor Image: Natural Dinosaur Museum, Australia
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