The Bread We Eat in Dreams - Page 86

ever got what they wanted. Now

I know what you came for. You want

my body. To hang it up on a nail

over your fireplace. Say to some milk-and-rosewater chica

who lays her head in your lap

look how much it takes

to

make me feel like a man.

We’re in the dark now, you and me. This is primal

shit right here. Grendel, Smaug, St. George. You’ve been

called up. This is the big game. You don’t have

to make stupid puns. Flash your feathers

like your monkey bravado

can impress. I saw a T-Rex fight a comet

and lose. You’ve

got nothing I want.

Here’s something I bet you don’t know:

every time someone writes a story about a dragon

a real dragon dies.

Something about seeing

and being seen

something about mirrors

that old tune about how a photograph

can take your whole soul. At the end

of this poem

I’m going to go out like electricity

in an ice storm. I’ve made peace with it.

That last blockbuster took out a whole family

of Bhutan thunder dragons

living in Latvia

Tags: Catherynne M. Valente Fantasy
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