View the rest of the
poems from Erin Hoffman in the March 2007 edition:
by Erin Hoffman
If an angel spoke to me,
whispered with breath of myrrh,
"promise me something
and I will keep him safe--"
the litany is immediate:
take my hair,
or if it is too impermanent and soft,
I do not really need those,
or if they are too small,
this section of my ribs
I could part with;
my right femur,
could you use that?
would an ankle suffice, or two? Walking
is not one of those things I couldn't live without;
not like his laughter.
I could give you now, dreams
would vanish anyway, so take them
and my pancreas, I think
when They send our sons
across waters dark and ancient
bracing for the 'what' swallows
the 'why'. They say it is
terror that they fight,
spectres, evil men
who want to kill us
but I wander with the clouds
over lightning and red sand,
think of saplings told they are men,
points of diamond in a rushing sea of shadow
and I am terrified,
Hoffman is a game designer and freelance writer living in Troy, New York.
She contributes to Escapist Magazine, Gamasutra,
and Strange Horizons, and was Cader Publishing's 2003
first quarter Poet of the Year.