Killing Cockroaches

When I first moved to Texas, someone told me that everything bites and stings here. It's true - many things bite and sting. Since living in the Southwest, I've spied tarantulas and armadillos (I think they're fascinating.) I've seen scorpions and water snakes, and so many species of bird and butterfly. And I see lots of cockroaches.

In our house, we have a joke about the garage recycling - that it best be emptied in the outside bins lest it become The Cockroach Hotel.

I wish I can tell you that the cockroaches don't bother me - that my disgust has been tempered through relationship, familiarity and time. But I continue to gasp when I see them.

This week, when I heard my friend Jonathan talk about the cockroach places inside - those places that like to hide and not be seen - I knew I wanted to write a poem about cockroaches. And so here, my friend, you go.

Killing Cockroaches by Karly Randolph Pitman

for J.S.

You first spied them in your kitchen –
antennae twitching as they scuttled
their retreat behind the fridge. For months
you carried the cockroaches outside,

trapping them in plastic cups. But eventually
you gave in to your disgust, squashing them
with a heavy hand, the crunch of their bodies
breaking. When your friend Ash kills flies,

she claps her hands and says, “Liberation!”
You wonder about the lifespan of a cockroach
and the crumbs at the edge of your sink:
did he enjoy a good life before his demise?

Tonight you spy a cockroach belly up, straining
on your tile floor. You feel your dislike and pause.
You retrieve the old cup, scoop up his spiny legs,
set him free in the humid summer night. You think

about the cockroach places inside you – how
they scurry and hide when they're seen
in the day's light. You remember the hundreds
of times you've come at them with a fly swatter,

eager to end their grotesque rustling. You ache
for the despised cockroach, for all that you hate.
So you learn: there are 10,000 species of cockroach.
Earth's recyclers, they make soil fertile and

decompose matter. The absence of the roach
is not a sign of well being. It signifies a lack
of health in the ecosystem, not its purity. You
remember the tiny snail, carried into your house

on garden herbs – how you set her down gently
with a blessing: Go forth and shine. As the
cockroach scampers off from his plastic cup
you wish him the same peace: Be well. Be free.

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With a grateful heart, Karly