Projection

by Jasmine Lunia

Achilles killed Xanthos

and a modern girl now sits

feeling the weight of each war

yet nothing at all.

There is a certain duality to

womanhood,

an existence that never extends beyond the womb

in which I was once encased

yet my own womb shriveling, empty,

habitat for wilting flowers

and picked off scabs.

I remember that vital night six years ago, still,

the fire that you, I, sparked within me,

the fire that saved and burned me.

I learned the other day that the Trojan war

was a myth, not a historical event,

but what differentiates myth from fact,

illusion from hallucination?

My questions for reality seem so cliche

and yet they remain,

engraved on my skull with the initials of

everything I once loved.

The brain has no pain receptors

so from where does the ache radiate?

Someone threaded a needle through my pupil;

I dance, love, lust no longer

but the moon is also

animate yet inanimate,

a projection of what we want her to be.