Featured Poem • April 2018
Cardiad
Virginia M. Mohlere
Oh, choose (the heart says to the heart) but the heart cries no. The heart cries no. Choose (says the heart) pick the altar on which to burn your thighbones. The heart’s choice is rotten. Every choice is rotten. Every choice hatches from an egg with a war-colored shell. Choose, heart. Knowing that to arrive at choice’s island brings the fleet of refused options floating in on the tide to rage at your walls, to cry out to the gods to whom you showed your back. And let me tell you, heart: gods always stick together. You ask a god to choose and their choice is never you. Oh, heart. You are the city and the ships, on fire and aground, watching the gods approach the horizon. The war is just about to start.
Virginia M. Mohlere owns too many fountain pens and heckles her members of Congress on Twitter. She fills her notebooks with scratch paper, which is totally confusing when she uses old drafts of her own work. She talks to trees. Sometimes they answer. Her work has been seen in Cicada, Mythic Delirium, Strange Horizons, and Through the Gate, among other publications.
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