Meditate, they said. Clear the head.
I found it quite impossible.
My thoughts kept breaking in.
I tried to bring them to order
as if I were training puppies,
but they wandered, time and again.

An idea struck me
from a bowl of fruit:
I would focus on an apple.
Not emptiness, but surely the next best thing.
Instead I called up Adam and Eve and sin,
pesticides and worms.

Undeterred,
I chose an egg.
Women who long to conceive drifted in,
and chickens at factory farms
and workers forced to wear diapers
as they stunned the frightened birds.

I opted for a match
and followed behind an Olympic torch.
Moist spongecakes rose in ovens
and logs burned in hearths.
Candles swayed at Candlemass
and cigarettes started forest fires.

This time, I picked something smaller:
a grain of rice.
I conjured children
without the chance of a bowlful,
and billionaires counting their fortunes,
while others starved.

I knew I had to go smaller still.
A pinch of salt. Less than that, a crystal.
At last. The ocean bathed my stubborn wounds
and took the bottle that held my tears.
Everything tasted good
and nothing came to mind.

(The 2020 Spirit First Poetry Contest, Third Prize)