(Pegasus Constellation – Winged Horse)


You ask me the difference between Pegasi

and unicorns as embers of fire complete

burned circles four feet in front of our feet.

Our town hankers for a time

when fire and hunger were rare,

when wings or horns were inconsequential,

when hearts waltzed woozy with pixelated promise.

Now wings and horns are all we have. One fantasy

after another. Men lament their learned helplessness.

Women work to recall the struggle to overcome it.

Unicorns all glitter magic until they impale our throats

with singular horns. Shame shows itself as hemorrhage,

detectible only by internal scan. What the world

sees as magic you see as disgrace. A dearth of grace.

Our blood fertilizes our flowers, blooming toward the cloud

cover of heaven. Pegasus uplifts the dead.

Unicorn=death and death and death.

Pegasus=angel on which the soul floats into whisper.


Amy Strauss Friedman

Amy Strauss Friedman is the author of the poetry collection The Eggshell Skull Rule (Kelsay Books, 2018) and the chapbook Gathered Bones are Known to Wander (Red Bird Chapbooks, 2016). Amy’s poetry has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net, and her work has appeared in Pleiades, Rust + Moth, The Rumpus, and elsewhere. Her work can be found at amystraussfriedman.com.

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