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
5 Dec 2022

We found you, and you alone, in a universe that had forgotten to die.
there is something queer about this intention—
In my calculus class was a man in an iridescent polo and pigeon feathers in his dark, tangled hair.
Friday: Into the Riverlands by Nghi Vo 
Issue 28 Nov 2022
By: RiverFlow
Translated by: Emily Jin
Issue 21 Nov 2022
Issue 14 Nov 2022
Issue 7 Nov 2022
Issue 31 Oct 2022
Issue 17 Oct 2022
Issue 10 Oct 2022
Issue 3 Oct 2022
Issue 26 Sep 2022
Issue 21 Sep 2022
Load More
%d bloggers like this: