Lunarist Girl by Eva Papasoulioti
16 lines
Issue 5 (Summer 2024)
I ask her why it rains when she cries
and she has no answer but to wipe
her tears with my finger, then put it
on my lips. Do you taste the eclipse?
she asks and yes, yes, it’s hidden behind
the salt and her yearning.
Her laugh brings shivers to the lungs
of this world. It’s because I’m happy,
she says, she thinks of the moon and the earth knows it.
Do you think if I kiss her, we’ll start a heatwave or a hurricane?
Her breathing tides, her ache
inevitable wildfire. My voice is glass.
Which constellations belong to us?
I embrace her and under the soft light of her mother,
we crystallize, magma statues, blazing
as a thunderstorm exhales.
Eva Papasoulioti is a Greek writer of speculative fiction and poetry. Her work has appeared in Uncanny, Strange Horizons, Solarpunk Magazine, Heartlines Spec, Radon Journal and elsewhere, and has been nominated for the Rhysling and Dwarf Stars Awards. She lives in Athens with her spouse and their two cats. You can find her on X/twitter and bluesky @epapasoulioti and on her blog plothopes.com
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