Pegasus

By VALERIE DUFF
Iron mallet, shield of glass. Our
genesis a crucible of gas
and condensation shot straight through the aorta
that took on color, luster, gorgon dreds
when one of us reversed and sampled godhead.
To be a wilderness, unstable viable
Medusa spawned right there, shut down
to rock and filled the holding chamber.
Pulled particles developed mass, insisted on
a stallion’s eye from iodine and salt, and spat
out cracks, and lonely, spat out code.
It arced from her decapitated neck.
Her hair knot slipped, a heart began to beat.
His hard wings shook like candles.

 

[Purchase Issue 12 here.]

Valerie Duff is the author of To the New World (Salmon Poetry). Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in The Common, Solstice, Ploughshares, and AGNI, among others. She is poetry editor of Salamander Magazine, and she’s the 2015 Poetry Fellow at the Writers’ Room of Boston.

Megan DoPegasus

Related Posts

feature

Poetry and Democracy: Part Two

MEGAN FERNANDES
White people don’t like when
you say:
white people.
White people
like to remind you
that you are Indian, not black.
Black people
never say that to you.

skyline

Three Torabully Translations

KHAL TORABULLY
Only a gashed murmur of gangue / remains at this crossroads of salts. / I notice the sharp-edged tattoo / of a forked harpoon when my memory festers. / In the black of dawn, pure métisse, / my uprooted flesh will no longer give respite to exiles. / And my life’s only protector is Death.

feature

Poetry and Democracy: Part One

Lawrence Joseph and Vievee Francis
He will dream/ into existence a raft, a rocket, a fort of mud./ From a cloud/ a gift of horses./ From the sandcastle and moat,/ kingdom and cause. Every boy knows he is a lone king,/ that above hover dragons/ from which he cannot withdraw