At the Kālachakra temple, under a ceiling painted in bright oils, I read 'eighteen kinds of emptiness.'

by Vismai Rao

I made one this morning: last spoon of honey licked clean out of its jar — washed,

dried & recycled for storing loose tealeaf. Not yet noon, I’ve already toured 23 — Just yesterday,

we donated the dog-bed to the shelter & stood in the newly vacated place, assessing size, weight,

how long in time will this one last? Recyclable or not? —

The room inside my friend’s lungs is mossed with pneumonia, doctors restoring

the bit of empty we all need to let the air in — Lao Tze

spoke of this: the use of the nothing inside of things: the isn’t in a water-can, a house,

the center of a wheel; the no-body inside a body —

Last spring, beside the lake, among the reeds we found a nest of broken egg shells —

what delight we took in this particular kind of emptiness. Spent hours guessing what bird born

might have left it there —

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Vismai Rao’s poems appear in Salamander, Indianapolis Review, RHINO, Rust + Moth, Glass: A Journal of Poetry, Parentheses Journal, SWWIM, & elsewhere. Her work has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net, and the Orison Anthology. She serves as Poetry Editor for the Night Heron Barks.