There was a time when I rode waves
metallic, tinged in blue iron
and brittle lilac. Raised by wolves in summer
I cast spells like winter at will
or spring with nothing but rain
clouds dripping honey and acid
diluted just enough to melt without the sting.
Today I hold a nest in my hands
filled with feathers plucked
from my mother’s breast.
We’ll hold our breath together, she and I, creating
fictions and reasons to wait
and my spells they’ll transform no one
and nothing but me.
|Lynette Mejía writes science fiction, fantasy, and horror prose and poetry from the middle of a deep, dark forest in the wilds of southern Louisiana. Her work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, the Rhysling Award, and the Million Writers Award. You can find her online at www.lynettemejia.com.|