Antibody
Where did this helicopter think it was headed? To a protest. Wildfire. High-speed pursuit. This is New Los Angeles. I almost wrote wildlife for wildfire. That’s where I’m headed, I think, soon. Back from Desk to Patrol. To the pursuit of living things.
In a desert, for any invasive species, there is always the fear of removal. The fear of being removed. Something must happen. And only force effects change.
The chopper keeps circling, its spotlight tracking blurs beyond its vision as if, through wanting, anything could stay.
~
Consecration
The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Which would not be so bad if he did not giveth to others what he taketh from us. I am thinking that this soil is not so good. I am thinking that nothing grows here.
Why were we given this land? says Sister. Why do we till this sand and dust?
We are cursed.
Well, if we are, by whom?
At night the winds blow so the lanterns rattle and the shadows are crazed. Lord, says Sister, on her knees. How have we offended thee? Run aground on our ghost ship, our sorrow a sea of gray sands. Deliver us from Evil, she prays.
The winds moan.
We will work this land until it is dark and rich with all we have to give. And then we will see what grows.
~
Invocation
Look at Eileen. Does she get upset when she polishes her wooden claw? No. She pops it right out and cleans it. Even the socket which nobody sees. Not even You. It’s not about appearances. It’s the principle.
Do you understand us now? Are You listening?
~
Gnostics
Who can say these days what they truly believe?
One can no more map the paths of the City than one can the logic of His truths. Trace a spiral of wings, all dotted with eyes. This is a symbol. Behind it there is only will. It is beyond our mortal comprehension.
Through our interfaced avatars, we are recast in His image. Purged of “is” to become more purely “what if.”
The old sage Escher, walking along his stairs, understood this. Better to trust in the destination. This is the only way to arrive.
~
Offering
Monday. The CFO of Respiratory Solutions is taking us through our morning stretches. Some crap about corporate culture he learned in “Old Nippon.” He drags us up to the rooftop—the roof!—in our tracksuits to say, These are not stretches! This is a contemplative dance!
He peers into his lifted palm like it’s a mirror.
I bet he sniffs his own dumps.
The bad air, he says. Breathe it in. Now bow.
~
Anointment
Up in front, Bobby M. keeps bowing the lowest. He’s gotten so into this crap. Like he’s never been hurt in his life. Who’s still falling for this? Who hasn’t lost a kid? Like he can sharpen a pencil without crying.
The CFO is dancing in place, a little thumbs-up cha-cha, and yelling, Sickness is a state of mind! Are you victims?!
Bobby M. keeps looking back at us. Doing that hand thing like, Come on. Come ON!
Burn the fat! says the CFO. Feel how streamlined we can travel!
He coughs into a folded white hanky and dabs at his brow.
Feel, he says, the pull of Demand.
~
Steve Chang is a Taiwanese writer and educator from the San Gabriel Valley, California. His work appears in Epiphany, Guernica, J Journal, The Normal School, North American Review, The Southampton Review, and elsewhere. Find him at stevehasawebsite.com and @stevexisxok