Cockroach

Roach, foulest of creatures, who attacks with yellow teeth and an army of cousins big as shoes, you are lumps of coal that are mechanized and when I turn on the light you scuttle into the corners and there is this hiss upon the land.

Yet I know you are only the common angel turned into, by way of enchantment, the ugliest.

Your uncle was made into an apple.

Your aunt was made into a Siamese cat, all the rest were made into butterflies but because you lied to God outrightly— told him that all things on earth were in order— He turned his wrath upon you and said,

I will make you the most loathsome,

I will make you into God’s lie, and never will a little girl fondle you or hold your dark wings cupped in her palm.

But that was not true.

Once in New Orleans with a group of students a roach fled across the floor and I shrieked and she picked it up in her hands and held it from my fear for one hour.

And held it like a diamond ring that should not escape.

These days even the devil is getting overturned and held up to the light like a glass of water.