By Annika Gangopadhyay
after Mary Shelley
tell me. does the spark of life pulse in you,
like a heartbeat?
is a replica capable of rhythm–unhinged
flesh, swinging by a bolt? the story begins
with you at my feet: i the victor
on my knees and you the corpse,
invigorated– let me measure the fiber
putrid on brown bones, the liver borrowed
and blackened in my arms. i awaken ember-eyed,
unafraid with shock–this is not birth, creature
dearest, but victory. breathe through
your chemical lungs as i melt the iceberg–
i the Prometheus no mortals could touch,
you the electricity– leave me on the
horizon, ablaze with contemplation,
below me
you creature in bliss.
follow the chemist’s
flame and tell me what it is to live as less
than mortal–does it scorch, like a synapse
undead?
Annika Gangopadhyay is an emerging writer from the San Francisco Bay Area. Her work appears or is forthcoming in Ligeia Magazine, Élan,The Incandescent Review, the borderline, and Blue Marble Review. When she's not writing, she enjoys performing music and reading art criticism.