6:1: “Green and Dying”, by Sonya Taaffe

6:1: “Green and Dying”, by Sonya Taaffe
The bone of her gleams
between copper and chrome,
tick-tock teeth notched
to seconds, reticulated
phalanges and escapement
ribs; her skull wound
with silver wires, electrum
that coils the elbows tight.
She chimes a labyrinth
of centuries chiseled off
into questions, the signposts
between truth and death,
life and lie, all of you
that her sickle hands
will leave for the world’s
remembrance. Time’s eldest,
starlit gears. Your sun
died in her eyes so long ago.

Sonya Taaffe has a confirmed addiction to myth, folklore, and dead languages. A respectable amount of her short fiction and poetry can be found in Postcards from the Province of Hyphens and Singing Innocence and Experience (Prime Books), and she is currently pursuing a Ph.D. in Classics at Yale University.

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