On Being a Divine Creature Mi-Lan Hoang ‘21
On being a divine creature, A thousand eyes are not acceptable anymore. The sound of rain on wet asphalt may be lovelier than the Seraphim chorus. My name cannot fit on human lips. I think I will need a new one. It is hard to remember to breathe. You mortals are so funny. Your hunger becomes you - ambitious for such a flimsy creature. Bone may grow back, but your heart is made of smoke and your hands are made of sand. Do you remember the Garden? The Father? Me? Do you wish to fall once more? Tell me again about that dream you had, and I’ll ask you to run away with me. Prophets speak through the static in between radio stations, you say. Listen closely. I think strawberry wafers would make better hosts; they’re still unleavened, aren’t they? I miss my wings. You let me stick my head out of your car sunroof and hit the gas. How beautiful lamplight looks on your skin and even moths try to kiss you. I want to be soft with you, yet I burn like fire, like pain, like a cookie sheet right out of the oven. It will come, it is coming, it is here. Begging will grant no mercy. My light is vivacious and all-consuming: eating away at the shadows without thought or hesitation and even you will not be spared. You touch me and your hands turn black. I cannot turn it off. Sometimes, I dream of sinning.
ESSE 2021 | 13
