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.
Copyright © Douglas Brown | Year Posted 2018
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