In my next world, we all practice Hinduism.

This week, I’ve released a baby cockroach and a dime spider from the apartment.
This afternoon, my brother kills an arachnid. Justifies, “A brown recluse.”

Yesterday, I bought a rice ball from a food truck, and the cook wished me well on my
way. My friend of a friend says,
“We’d only kill one cow to get the genetically modified meat-thing going.”

Death means less death.
“Something is dead when it dies. That something is dead when it is killed.”
Less death is death.

I want to tell them I’ve never believed in “god,” but since I learned the Hindu mantra,
He is everywhere.

I arrive at the grocery store.
I walk through the parking lot.
I collect pancaked plastic bottles every few feet. There is no recycling bin.
The man slicing salmon compliments my socks.

Originally published through the Texas State Honors College.


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