Naru Dames Sundar


Werewolves are so passé,
At the party, tips of fur bristling,
All silver amidst the samite,
Or dusky gray shredding sable
	Leaving strips of chiffon
	In their wake.
All of them, chanting obeisance
	Into the darkening sky
	And the pale moon, 
	Raven's egg rising.
I sit cross-legged in the corner,
	Flagon of ale in my palm.
I know their goddess,
	That shifty-eyed oval,
	Pockmarked queen.
She bit me once,
	In an arbor full of rosemary.
	She walked down
	Clad in damask,
	Along a strip of cloud.
I felt her teeth,
	Sharp incisors against my neck,
	The lap of tongue
	Smelling of camphor.
Nowadays, I feel her, 
Even when she is belly deep
Under the horizon.
	Except when she hides 
	Behind mother sun,
And then I have to slip
	Inside lakes and seas
	To unmapped depths.
Skin splays and bones lengthen,
	And I become fat and full
	Of rock, shale, amethyst and pearl
	And I am a new moon rising.


I felt its teeth at birth,
	The universe.
An ocean of mouths,
	Rustling teeth as small as dust motes 
	As large as worlds
When my face was porcelain and young,
It shattered me with its little love bites,
	Until they called me a pockmarked queen
	And no damask could hide my scars.
When the orrery aligns,
	And my tooth-borne curse becomes light,
	I am for a moment
	Stretched out across unbound time
	And my diadem crown, all pearls and snow,
	Widens to drink a river of stars
		And all that swim at the banks. 


A singularity bit me once,
An infinite god with teeth,
Uncaring of 
	My ocean of gas-giants,
	My tick-tock pulsars,
	My nebulae refracting light
I was just another universe
	To bite.
Now I must suffer, each epoch,
	Space-time folding in on itself,
	Until I am nothing more than
	A point of infinite grace,
		Waiting to unfurl again.


Naru Dames Sundar is a speculative fiction writer who lives in the mountains of Santa Cruz. His work has previously appeared in Daily Science FictionCrossed Genres, and here in Liminality, and is forthcoming at Nature:Futures & Strange Horizons.