Size / / /

Carefully, I stitch together
bone and sinew, muscle
and nerve. Cover with skin.

Gentle electrical stimulation—
more of a massage, really,
galvanic impulses
dialed down.

My predecessors,
being men,
were far too rough.

What is called for here
is patience and pain
on the part
of the scientist.

What they didn’t understand,
what they could never have understood,
being barren,

is that this road requires a toll, a tip
to the ferryman.

No life is created in a vacuum.
Re: Thermodynamics, First Law:

The energy must come
from somewhere.

Publication of this poem was made possible by a donation from Rachael Acks. (Thanks, Rachael!) To find out more about our funding model, or donate to the magazine, see the Support Us page.



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 appeared in Daily Science Fiction, Nature: Futures, and others, and has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, the Rhysling Award, and the Million Writers Award. You can find her online at www.lynettemejia.com.
Current Issue
4 Nov 2024

“Did you know,” the witch says, “that a witch has no heart of her own?”
Outsiders, Off-worlders {how quickly one carves out a corner of the cosmos, / claims a singular celestial body as [o u r s] in the scope of infinity}
Lunar enby folks across here
Wednesday: The 2024 Ignyte Award for Best Novel Shortlist, Part Two 
Friday: A Place Between Waking and Forgetting by Eugen Bacon 
Issue 28 Oct 2024
Issue 21 Oct 2024
By: KT Bryski
Podcast read by: Devin Martin
Issue 14 Oct 2024
Issue 7 Oct 2024
By: Christopher Blake
Podcast read by: Emmie Christie
Issue 30 Sep 2024
Issue 23 Sep 2024
By: LeeAnn Perry
Art by: nino
Issue 16 Sep 2024
Issue 9 Sep 2024
Issue 2 Sep 2024
Issue 26 Aug 2024
Load More