"Howl's Castle" by Emanuela Iorga
Semantics by Oluwafisayo Akinfolami
the moon is set ablaze & there is no theory for this; i bait your bloodline to believe it is bodiless:
i pluck you into the war & it swallows you & maps you a new body. one for you to align with.
one that is ripe enough for belief. anyway, what is a name if it does not bear witness to your
grief? we burn our names & distribute it to our neighbours like sweets: spoonfeed finger size
portions to our children. My mother says grief is diabolical; no just commodity. so i unfold its
layers & toss it into the sea. your name means to have mercy but this country swallows you
with no regard for what you translate to. aren't all names tautology? i mean don't we all
translate to the same thing; body? mercy? i sue my country for every girl that is stolen from
her body. someone is always stealing someone & how many ways are there to steal someone
before they steal themselves? i mistake a woman for war & wear her until she becomes
bodiless. we shaft our sadness out our nipples, this is how we learn to become someone's
miracle: disguising our thirst. bending for our countries. misplacing our children. folding our
sons into war exhibits. cauterizing our bodies into a bestiary of metaphors.
i pluck you into the war & it swallows you & maps you a new body. one for you to align with.
one that is ripe enough for belief. anyway, what is a name if it does not bear witness to your
grief? we burn our names & distribute it to our neighbours like sweets: spoonfeed finger size
portions to our children. My mother says grief is diabolical; no just commodity. so i unfold its
layers & toss it into the sea. your name means to have mercy but this country swallows you
with no regard for what you translate to. aren't all names tautology? i mean don't we all
translate to the same thing; body? mercy? i sue my country for every girl that is stolen from
her body. someone is always stealing someone & how many ways are there to steal someone
before they steal themselves? i mistake a woman for war & wear her until she becomes
bodiless. we shaft our sadness out our nipples, this is how we learn to become someone's
miracle: disguising our thirst. bending for our countries. misplacing our children. folding our
sons into war exhibits. cauterizing our bodies into a bestiary of metaphors.
Oluwafisayo Akinfolami is a final year student of history and international studies. A Pushcart nominee, her works have appeared on Blue Marble Review, Perhappened Mag, Undivided Magazine, ARTmosterrific, and elsewhere.
Emanuela Iorga is a filmmaker, artist, and screenwriter, who lives in Chisinau, Moldova. Art represents for her a recently rediscovered passion, following a series of world and inner changes. Her work can be found at https://manolcaincosmos.wordpress.com/270-2/
