The Prophecy

Holding my death in his mouth

I’m reminded of a cat
Snapping a canary up

All blood and blonde
feathers and grey fur
Tiny beak and talons
no match against that

Merciless beast
Poor creature 

I have arrived here

And departed

Breath spelled and ex-spelled
Like a resurrection incantation
Whispered in the darkness

Take care
See you

I am coming to understand feast and famine
This timeless absurd food chain

we engage

In a predatory act
A perverse play (Who wrote this filth?)

The swing of a dress

like a pendulum descending

The only sound the swish and click

swish and click
As the heel drops
lower and lower . . .


Against his cheek

In morning light

Bovine church bells low once more
Somewhere near . . . I

wake, frightened and depraved

I stir to rise then decide better
Lie still a little longer

Stay girl stay

So I stay
Slowly dying


I’ll name our son Volpine

Teach him how to hunt and pray
Then set him loose upon the world
Like flame 




Cyn Grace Sylvie is a writer and performer whose work explores the internal drives and subversive desires of the human experience through the lens of personal mythology, sexuality, and mysticism. Cyn is a recipient of Epiphany Magazine’s 2017 Short Nonfiction Prize and was shortlisted for The Best American Essays of 2018. Her poetry has been featured in BRKFST Biannual, MATH Magazine, Tata Magazine, and Aoetearotica Magazine. She is a creative director by profession, an oracle by calling, and a fatalist by design. She resides in Jersey City.


“The Prophecy” appears in TLR: Granary.