The Hope I Carried With Me to Bed
by
Radiance Angelina Petro

Late evening sky—the color of Kali.
Mind swirling with anti-mantras.
I gave the morning a five-star review–
even added a couple comments of praise.

And then the day happened.

So many missing pieces, and not just
the centermost. A whole row of edges—gone.

But I am familiar with this emptiness,
and once again I walked the pilgrim’s walk
hoping to find rest by a stream of faith.

I felt swindled.

Heart pitted against mind, body against
spirit, time against soul, good against
bad, me against me.

Called in reinforcements of intuition
and managed to see a caterpillar
feeding on hibiscus leaves,
and the cafe had well-salted soup,
washed the lettuce and there weren’t
any snails, although I like snails
and bring them outside whenever
I find one.

What is the solution to this inevitable
nihilism that follows me even in secret?

All I know is by nightfall Kali unfolded
her red tongue and revealed the moon,
and she was hungry. And that’s the hope
I carried with me to bed that night, and I fell asleep
to the sound of her terrible steps moving
across the land—her ankle bracelets
jangling, like a thousand cracked bells, as she searched
for something to crush.