Featured Poems From Mythic Delirium, Issue 20, Winter/Spring 2009 Genesis Holly Dworken Cooley This text will be replaced

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I This is the moment we wait for. This is the day of the first crayon. Today we draw the animals in red wiry lines. On the second day we draw red hearts on their chests. They are humans getting ready to be born. In order to ready them for their lives, we spit on their eyes to give them sight, we blow in their mouths to give them breath, and we tickle their genitals to give them sex. They must decide how to live.   II The third, fourth, and even the fifth day we spend filling in the rest of the picture so that nothing is missing. We think of everything. Under trees that touch the sky we draw birds to fly and make the people jealous, insects to taunt them, bite and pinch, and giant mammals to devil their dreams, mushrooms to make them see beyond themselves. They will not begin to think before we leave. They will not remember us.   III On the sixth day we pause to feast, dedicating their weakest to our hunger. By then we have bled all the crayons dry, anyway. We are full of belching and indigestion and swallow Alka-Seltzer by the bucketful. On the seventh day, though, we are all well again. We prepare to rub ourselves out of the picture, but we leave behind the sacrificial pyres. If they light them, the flames will color the sky like red crayon drawings in the night.   IV Of course, we’ve followed the manual’s instructions on making new existence seem worthwhile. So we’ve left hints for them to build a god from — crayon wrappers with rules for living to be found on top of a mountain, one gold goblet from our feast at the table with 12 chairs, and two sticks of wood awkwardly crossed with a few nails punched in. Crude, of course, but we’re only students and this is, after all, our first attempt.

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A Mythic Delirium Classic From Mythic Delirium, Issue 6, Winter/Spring 2002. Werechihuahua Ian Watson This text will be replaced

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He’s fierce for six inches high Is Werechihuahua. After changing at dusk Scampering after his prey He often sank teeth into ankles Hoping a victim might fall Exposing throat to tiny teeth. Now people don high boots Whenever they hear the yap Of Werechihuahua. Small wonder he’s fierce — At least in his heart — For the Aztecs bred him And worshipped him And they tore the hearts Out of prisoners-of-war. Noble families might house A thousand Chihuahuas Each with its own personal slave. Imagine a thousand Chihuahuas, Like canine piranhas reducing Their prey to a scatter of bones In five minutes or say half an hour. When he retransforms at dawn He’s that funny little bootmaker Tapping away at his bench Coining silver from all the demand For boots knee-high at least. In fact not all of him Turns into a crazed Chihuahua, Merely the mass of his foot. So when suspicious citizens Peer through his window They see that he’s still abed And never notice how the blanket Near the end falls rather flat. But I’ve spied a tiny pet dog Burrow under the sheet At sunrise — and why by day Is it never about in his shop?

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“Genesis” first appeared in Mythic Delirium, Issue 20, Winter/Spring 2009. “Genesis” copyright © 2009 by Holly Dworken Cooley. Illustration by Daniel Trout, copyright © 2009. Voice recording by Kate Baker, © 2009; all rights reserved. “Werechihuahua” first appeared in Mythic Delirium, Issue 6, Winter/Spring 2002. “Werechihuahua” copyright © 2002 by Ian Watson. Accompanying illustrations by Bob Snare, copyright © 2002. Voice recording (in the original language) by Ian Watson, © 2009; all rights reserved. These poems and illustrations may not be reproduced in any form without the authors’ and artists’ express written permission. Previous classic and featured poems by: Amal El-Mohtar and Jessica Paige Wick David C. Kopaska-Merkel and Gene van Troyer Jeannine Hall Gailey and Charlee Jacob Theodora Goss and Sonya Taaffe Samantha Henderson and Ann K. Schwader Catherynne M. Valente and Anna Tambour Back to newest featured poems.