It’s upsetting enough to hear about
the murder of someone I didn’t know
well but who seemed to matter –
a man who called himself
Sudharman and helped me see things
could change, that I could
go from being a navy
seal perhaps to someone
who helped, someone who stretched
everyone more than they wanted
to be stretched.
Fuck the guy who killed him
part of me says – but who knows
what he did, what either of them
did. Who knows the suffering
unleashed by the smallest
This poem, that slight.
Already you may want
to kill me. Who knows?
Commentary: Sudharman’s murder shook the whole community. He left my neighbor’s house the evening of July 4th and was found shot to death in his apartment the next day. The man who killed him wrote about his plan to kill Sudharman and did very much what he announced he would. I didn’t know Sudharman well but always felt seen in his presence; I’ve studied yoga and I know the benefit of stretching ourselves beyond our resistance. I’m struck by how we, all of us, harbor such contradictory impulses – the guru and the navy seal – and how little we know of our motivations or the effects of what we bring to the world.