“Did you ever wish
to be something
besides a wife and mother?”
Mengette looks at me
as though my teeth
just fell out of my mouth.
“Oh, you mean like a nun?
No, not me. Not even
if I lost my dear Collot.
But I wouldn’t hope
for that, cousin. Your father
wants you to marry a man,
not the church.”
I know she’s right,
but there’s a restless
thrumming in my chest,
as if boredom and this little village
might swallow me whole.
The noon chapel bells toll.
I close my eyes and imagine
the chimes call forth
a great army of angels
riding valiant white steeds,
and I am among them.
“My mother made a pilgrimage
to Rome when she was a girl.
Maybe I can do that too?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Jehanne.
France is at war.
That’s too dangerous a trip for a man,
let alone a girl from Lorraine.
Just be content as you are.”
I turn away from Mengette.
The sun hides behind
a patch of billowy clouds
as the bells fall silent.
Even if I can’t change
the direction of the wind,
why must I agree
that foul air smells sweet?