Size / / /

I will tell you

in those transports you bomb,

their groaning metal evolving to blooms of ragged air,

soldiers of your enemy wait

stroking the flanks of their guns.

I will tell you

when you cut down their planes and crack the holds,

those withered vegetables you find

aren't food but weaponry; those dolls

actually spies with alien eyes.

I will tell you

the noise you hear when you hack their coms

is no language beautiful as your own

but the noise of a million insects

descending like locusts toward your planet.

I will tell you

the broken bodies of the children you find

in the hollowed rubble of your cannon fields

were planted by your enemy

to confuse you.

You need truth to win a war.

Listen. I will tell you.




When not writing, M. Frost works as a veterinarian in Pennsylvania. Her poetry appears in numerous venues, including Star*Line, The Magazine of Speculative Poetry, Astropoetica, Pemmican, and the International Journal of Humanities and Peace. She is member of the SFPA, and her forthcoming book, Cow Poetry and Other Notes From the Field, will be published in December by Finishing Line Press. You can reach her through her website or email.
Current Issue
26 Feb 2024

I can’t say any of this to the man next to me because he is wearing a tie
Language blasts through the malicious intentions and blows them to ash. Language rises triumphant over fangs and claws. Language, in other words, is presented as something more than a medium for communication. Language, regardless of how it is purposed, must be recognized as a weapon.
verb 4 [C] to constantly be at war, spill your blood and drink. to faint and revive yourself. to brag of your scars.
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