by J. P. Wickwire

She will be Hypatia
ever patient,
a violet with a telescope
watching stars made from folded parchment
and blackberry ink
cresting the zodiac,
and coming to rest on her fingertips.
And they will be part of her,
woven into the silicon of her tendons,
tenderly brushing her eyelids down with the sunset,
tentatively rousing her with prickled hands.
She will be
a violin bridge,
an ellipsis.
She will bear children like
choruses of seafoam and
press her bloodline into the
bindings of hand-tied books.
She will be wolfmother
Endless acrobats.
And You
will be over there
ever so parasitic,
a bonsai human
breathing a death rattle
that sounds like the glass crackle
of a silent film
left on a damaged reel.

J. P. Wickwire is a senior English and Creative Writing double major at Salem College. She is obsessed with marvelous poetics, sweeping fantasies, and gritty, imaginative science-fiction. Both her poetry and fiction has been published internationally, and she spent three years as a professional speculative fiction reviewer. When she isn't writing or doing school she and her fiancé enjoy trekking down to the local indie movie theater, eating strangely flavored popcorn, and discovering hidden places in their hometown.

When asked to name her favourite fruit, J. P. replied as follows: "I wish I could say it was something really cool like dragon fruit or a pomegranate or something, and it's hard for me to pick just one because I just about live off of fruits. I think in the end, though, it's probably a three-way tie between pineapple, avocado, and red/purple grapes. It just depends on what's in season, and if I'm in a tart, savory, or sweet mood."

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