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
8 Aug 2022

my uncle walks around with amulets tied to his waist
Cia transits between you: a moon the size of home, a tiny hole in Shapa’s swirls.
Foxglove was called Foxglove not because of the flower, but because she could slip into the skin of a fox like a hand into a glove.
Wednesday: The Void Ascendant by Premee Mohammed 
Friday: Garden of Earthly Bodies by Sally Oliver 
Issue 1 Aug 2022
Issue 18 Jul 2022
Issue 11 Jul 2022
Issue 4 Jul 2022
Strange Horizons
Issue 27 Jun 2022
Issue 20 Jun 2022
Issue 13 Jun 2022
Issue 9 Jun 2022
Issue 6 Jun 2022
Podcast: 6 June Poetry 
Issue 30 May 2022
Load More
%d bloggers like this: