I would have been a good nun—
hairshirt cilice and fasting for a purpose,
prostrating myself before the last good man.
What was silliness becomes nobility
and suffering is virtuous without pleasure.
Sisterhood is given as it is received—
a heavy wimple covers our jealousies,
our clammy hands clasp together,
and my dreams are full of boiled cod and tin.
.
I am an evil woman.
I hold a chickadee in my jaws,
and I crunch.
I look.
I eat eggs in the nest.
I lunge for the hare
and I sink my teeth into its neck.
I stalk. I circle. I shiver.
.
I’m a moth flying into a light trap
I’m poaching chickens
but more than this,
I want to swallow an orchid whole.
to be imbued with a touch of its magic even
if it wilts in my throat.
.
.
.