Released Into The Wild
I see the jungle as it is:
I kill and eat every day,
Members of my clan are sometimes taken away in the night.
Floods and mudslides destroy our nests and we have to start
all over again.
It’s not all bad. I sleep well most days and spend time
playing with the cubs.
This must be the best possible world, right?
The real one at least?
But I’m haunted by a vague memory of another existence
A better one
Free of violence or storm.
Is it wishful thinking, maybe just a capricious dream?
Somewhere inside of me
There is a God
and I can’t help but remember Him.
I can see in my memory a yellow name tag shaped like
a little hard banana.
We called him “Jeff.”
He smelt of peanut butter and aftershave.
I used to think about Him at night when I couldn’t sleep
and there was no moon.
—Billy Internicola
This article appears in December 2016.
