repatriating Buddha

The day after my father-in-law died

I saw your familiar head in the grocery store

cast in grey plastic resin and sitting, of all places,

on top of a grass-skirted display labeled "Tiki Bar"

Buddha, they made a joke of you

They put you in a silly, south seas,

tropical-drink-themed

party tableau

Maybe you didn't mind, as you are an awake Buddha,

but I am a groggy Christian,

and my Buddhist husband was grieving his father,

and I couldn't bear to see you like that

I did what any good Samaritan would do

for a Buddha left to languish on the Tiki-Samsara highway

I set you carefully in my shopping cart

between the frozen pot pies and the organic bananas

You cast your compassionate gaze on everything

as we traveled past pool supplies and pet food,

through the land of entertainment centers and leather sectionals

There was no inflatable bodhi tree in the seasonal aisle

but we found an empty sofa table that looked like an altar

I placed you in the center of it and made a quick bow.

The man at the seafood counter pretended not to see us

You looked happier there,

bigger than before and more finely wrought

you seemed at peace, finally

after so many years of infirmity

The sea of impermanence rose up and carried me away from you,

toward the check-out and the parking lot,

the evening meal and the funeral home

Attention Kroger shoppers:

Great is the matter of life and death

Thirteen items or less is sufficient

Do not waste this moment