Dante's Heart
Susan Slaviero
Postmodern Werewolves
are drinking water out of women’s footprints
hoping to transform sinew into silk.
They are hybrid simulacra: bearskin
berserkers, red-toothed villainesses
deconstructing myths of crooked limbs,
foaming jaws. Being afflicted with silverburn
(they say) doesn’t mean they’re skinwalkers.
They have no fear of crucifixes, holy water,
or wolfsbane—they can shapeshift
into saints at will, or teleport from Arcadian woods
into spaceships or suburban bedrooms.
There are no natural-born predators,
no mooncages or cyclical attacks.
Only stories, simulations
where a witch throws an iron bar
over their backs, reveals
the naked androgyne beneath.
Postmodern Werewolves
are drinking water out of women’s footprints
hoping to transform sinew into silk.
They are hybrid simulacra: bearskin
berserkers, red-toothed villainesses
deconstructing myths of crooked limbs,
foaming jaws. Being afflicted with silverburn
(they say) doesn’t mean they’re skinwalkers.
They have no fear of crucifixes, holy water,
or wolfsbane—they can shapeshift
into saints at will, or teleport from Arcadian woods
into spaceships or suburban bedrooms.
There are no natural-born predators,
no mooncages or cyclical attacks.
Only stories, simulations
where a witch throws an iron bar
over their backs, reveals
the naked androgyne beneath.
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