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Two-Headed Calf, by Laura Gilpin



Tomorrow when the farm boys find this
freak of nature, they will wrap his body
in newspaper and carry him to the museum.

But tonight he is alive and in the north
field with his mother. It is a perfect
summer evening: the moon rising over
the orchard, the wind in the grass. And
as he stares into the sky, there are
twice as many stars as usual.


——————————

What is different? What is wrong? It is the significance we see in the "freak", the novelty of the unknown, A break in pattern that draws in the thrill seekers and repels those who dwell in comforting familiarity.
But either way it will make us notice. The fact that it draws attention makes it valuable, a value that could and would be marketed, capitalised, and sold. It is currency.

Why must we kill that which we find so precious? Maybe it is because we can only gain a measure of control over a being when we make it a thing—when we exercise the taking away of its life and its will. What a dream it is for us to control—beauty, power, desirability, traits we cannot have ourselves—to know that you own it, to have it at your disposal, in your inventory, to have it stable.  
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