Von Aegir Literary
Ageusia
JARED POVANDA
Snowfall, distance, crushed bodies strewn red
over white. Carnations of youth.
He hears hymns chanted by monks, baritone,
dark moons orbiting.
Snow falls into his mouth
Like bats returning to a wet cave.
He cannot taste the snow.
He cannot taste anything
except the spear in his side,
an intrusion he courted but never wanted.
He recalls, then, that he used to love the color blue:
cornflower, cobalt, indigo, azure,
navy, iris, and sky, sky
open into belief, gyring blue gods
keeping the center from collapsing inward
like a cave mouth, new gash, a moon exploding
across the sky’s bluest curve.
Dimitri cannot feel his tongue,
or this icy water without taste
using his tongue as a slide
into a last repose.
His eyes slip shut when the chants puddle on blue palms.
When the scents of blood and snow at last
become leonine in their ferocity.
over white. Carnations of youth.
He hears hymns chanted by monks, baritone,
dark moons orbiting.
Snow falls into his mouth
Like bats returning to a wet cave.
He cannot taste the snow.
He cannot taste anything
except the spear in his side,
an intrusion he courted but never wanted.
He recalls, then, that he used to love the color blue:
cornflower, cobalt, indigo, azure,
navy, iris, and sky, sky
open into belief, gyring blue gods
keeping the center from collapsing inward
like a cave mouth, new gash, a moon exploding
across the sky’s bluest curve.
Dimitri cannot feel his tongue,
or this icy water without taste
using his tongue as a slide
into a last repose.
His eyes slip shut when the chants puddle on blue palms.
When the scents of blood and snow at last
become leonine in their ferocity.
Jared Povanda is an internationally published writer and freelance editor from upstate New York. He has been nominated for Best of the Net and Best Microfiction, and his writing can be found in fine venues such as Pidgeonholes, CHEAP POP, Wrongdoing Magazine, Versification, and Hobart, among others. Find him @JaredPovanda and jaredpovandawriting.wordpress.com.
