She once carried her first born across the river to speak to elephants.
She admired their ears and ability to remember songs.
“I am mysterious red,” she said, but the elephant only spoke Latin.
She lifted her boy to the beast. “The beast is dead,” she said,
shaking the beast unnecessarily.
She began to draw ∇s into the beast. Her son scribbled queer in
No one ate.
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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 29 | Summer 2010