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“the fear of cyborgs to believe in flesh” © 2022 by Maria Carvalho

A crack in my leg opened my world,
shattered it like thunder announces
the arrival of lightning
that illuminates the celestial sphere.

The tip of my finger followed
its ridged edge and my brain,
refusing to let go of my missing limb,
had the muscles in my thigh twitch.

Anticipating agony, my shaking hand
peeled away the corroding copper cast
holding my path in its rigid embrace.

Beneath the mint and coral galaxy
I believed to be my cosmos,
a gasp of relief escaped living cells
as they emerged from their coma.

By the time I was free,
my hand, the liberator, was cut up, red
mixing with the orange and the green
on the floor in a river of eternity.

I drew in it, covered my fingers in it,
imagined my arm encased
in this universe I created of my own.

Vanessa Jae writes horrifically beautiful anarchies, reads stories for Apex Magazine, and translates for Progressive International. She also collects black hoodies and bruises in mosh pits on Tuesday nights. To read tweets by interesting people, follow her at @thevanessajae.
Current Issue
5 Jun 2023

Jackson sat at Kay’s bedside, one of her hands laid atop his, palm to palm, fingertips against the soft inside of her wrist. His fingers measured her temperature and pulse, her blood pressure, and her blood oxygen levels. She was no weaker or stronger today than yesterday. He was unsurprised and uneasy. Her vitals were regular with sleep. She had been resting when he returned from the shore.
You do not mean this as slang.
certain people of the town go outside, kick off their shoes
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