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.

Pegasus

Related Posts

Resen, Macedonia

Dispatches from Macedonia

TIARA DINEVSKA-MCGUIRE
The kingdom is collapsing inwards and tears down history as it falls. / We hear the vacant space where our language was kept; the absence / Growls as if it remembers once being full.

Photograph of a door in a brick wall from Joost Markerink on Flickr

March 2020 Poetry Feature: Frances Richey

FRANCES RICHEY
Two good sized dogs with him. Princess and Baby. / When he brought them out they walked so close / together, they looked like one starving animal / with two heads. In the summer he left his door open. / It was dark in there, but I could see / roaches crawling on the walls.

Soldiers

February 2020 Poetry Feature: Victoria Kelly

VICTORIA KELLY
This is not a corsage or dinner party / kind of love; this is a hard love, / a mining rubies in Greenland kind / of love, out of rocks / uncovered by melting ice, the terrain sparse // and unexplored; there are no galas, no gazebos / here, no indolent lovers on sofas...