The Beautiful Hunger

She could see pink over the vanity that her husband had built. Someone had removed its mirror, oh, long ago and put it in the alcove with the window so she could sit and look over the cemetery and into the mountains. She could see the pink and the vault of warmth over the mountains, and some purple glowing on the rises; even through cataracts. But not the lights of the helicopter flying over Alhambra. She used to take a daily walk to Obregon Park and even to Belvedere School to watch her granddaughter play. But now her granddaughter watched her and carefully laid her in bed after she fell asleep in the alcove. Tonight she felt the hand on her shoulder and saw her nieta place food on the small table next to her. I can smell snow on the peaks. I am not hungry. I want to be eaten. Nieta drew back. You mean eaten by God? She only smiled and turned back to the window. * The wolf looked out at the valley And saw an enormous bathing of pink and orange light which caused cubs nearby to sniff the air and pause before rolling in the snow, fighting. She sniffed for his smell but it was not there. She sniffed for the Early People whose bones she had found. Nothing. A cub rushed her and she snarled weakly. Where is the mother? Then some meat was dropped at the cave’s entrance. She sniffed it and settled more deeply into the cave’s bedding. She looked down at the moving ribbons of white and red which always blossomed at night. I want to be eaten. By the Early People with their clean killing not shot at from strange mechanical birds. I am ready to be eaten. She looked out across the ribbons and the pink and sniffed the air. There is someone. There is someone. A wolf in a woman’s heart. * Nieta found her with her eyes and her mouth wide open staring down this time. She paused before she lifted her up and looked out into the faded pink sky, the purple rises and the faded strokes of sun. And then she thought- What a good day to be eaten. A woman in a wolf’s heart! Must be the stories that my grandmother told me of the Early People. This time she was not embarrassed to have these thoughts. * She put her gently in bed and covered her and hurried down to her own daughter’s bed, the hospice nurse's phone number in her pocket, and got under the covers. She held her tightly until she could feel the gentle thump – thump - thump and protect her from the inevitable, beautiful hunger.