Divine Transformation, and: Fullness and Hunger

Divine Transformation

Watching Jain nuns sweep peacock feathersacross the earth, I wanted to becomeone of them. I was pupal, shiftingin the uniform of my larval skin. The nunspractice ultimate nonviolence, brushingthe floor with fallen feathers, cotton broom,unbleached wool to avoid bruising any insect.It was to me an obvious way to live, beforeI saw myself as small, inelastic. I was largewith guilt. Why girl, why not mouse, moth?My mother asked where do you see yourself in ten years and I said barefoot, forest floor,fostering compassion. Wearing a muslin clothover my mouth to avoid swallowing somewinged thing. I didn’t auspicate the apartmentin Brooklyn, sponging blood from mosquitosoff my wall, could not imagine I would cultivatea new cruelty, not just obvious roach sprayand rat trap, but killing the unobjectionable,gnats and fruit flies who inhabit this arbitraryworld for just a breath. Last week I ate exclusivelythe unborn, salmon roe and quail eggin one luscious bite. The distance betweenwhat I thought I was and what I amgrows. I could have been a kind of fly.I could have been kind.

Fullness and Hunger

My father orders the crab croquetand I am quick to correctcroquette for the white waiterpouring water coquettishly.Last summer in England I watchedmy brother grip a mallet on themanicured lawn of his new lifewhile my parents learned the rulesto this ballet, beaming, and I sippedgin. My father’s face when hehit the ball through the wicket.My father’s face now. The slippedgrin. My father’s face in my face.I can be wicked, I begin to say, butit sounds like crickets, it soundslike nothing at all, though bothour mouths are moving.