saghorn factory | by Stephanie Chang

bitten antler. this is a scene
every bit as lighthearted as

             any other myth. i am mass-
             producing fairytales

in a cold garage. wait
for the magic to set in:

             sickly hues moaning
             blues and bright yellows.

the first shadow rises
like a deer from sour dough;

             arched spine dipping a body
             into a still lake,

lungs breathing the identical
air prescribed by natural order.

              by evolution, a second chance
              can always be bargained for.

could say disease. birds
singing face-down

              on a dry conveyor belt:
              slaughterhouse, dear.

reminds me of false hypotheses
and compounds that when

              bonded, convey desire.
              submergence is the finest

act of artistry. a tear in the
dawn. this is the severity,

              the aftermath; not quite a finale.
              call the silence a home and it

will become one. this
is the farthest the trail

              will take you. i remember paradise:
              blood-lipped the same way

i tossed a stag head into artificial
forest fire. its sagging eyes

              stared at me, at the same hands
              quietly choking a mechanical finch.



Stephanie Chang is a Chinese-Canadian high school student from Richmond, BC. Her work is published in The Penn Review and Blue Marble Review, among others. When not growing houseplants in her apartment window, she’s drinking tea, watching black and white films, checking this week’s moon phases, and doing introvert things.