Christine Youn

An insignificant pest, about an inch long
steps into my doorsteps.

Skittering, around the room
Aimlessly.

It hits one of the four sides of the room,
a hard concrete wall as empty as a blank answer sheet.

The roach is on it back
exposing its lighter side.

It’s almost pathetic
shaking its short flimsy legs,

a futile effort to get up on its six feet.

At its most vulnerable position,
all it wants to do is hide.
To run away to the darkest corners of the room,
the usual hang spot.

As I am watching this repulsing creature,
I can’t help but see myself.

So I stop the pain for my friend
from the struggle to find an eternally dim place of safety,
from living a life of aimless and endless travels…