i live only
on the edges of this world
—even a sphere has corners;
sharp turns where
reality stretches and yawns.
i grow in the fragrant soil
of one such edge
poking out into the vastness.
my spores, like little tongues
choose to leave me
digging into the Galaxy
growing fat and lazy on the
sweetness of the stars
engorged, they sleep
letting some primal thing take over
splitting their swollen stomachs,
pushing out limbs, and mouths hungry
with more infant tongues
our greed drives us
this half crazed, insatiable need to devour stardust
it is a good thing then
that we have no roots.
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| Vijayalakshmi Harish is the author of Strangely Familiar Tales, a self-published collection of speculative fiction and a co-editor of Write in Power: An Anthology of the Personal and the Political. Her work has appeared in various anthologies and online magazines, including Strange Horizons, Kaleidotrope, and others. |