Editor’s Note: The following is a poem written by the Canteron Sicily, named by a human during the battle for “Hortus,” the human name for the planet designated 4-051-40923-19-07 by the galactic library. For a full analysis of the Canteron’s literature and how it has changed since their war with humanity, see The Drum of the Deathworlds: An Analysis of How Art from the Harshest Planets Resonates with Us by the Scholar Schandri of the Andoeenr.
The Warrior to the Prisoner on the Way to War
Our captors cannot stop talking
they make sounds as scents have no
meaning for them – until
one turns to me and names me Sicily,
because I smell like red wine.
We are forced to listen:
voices meant to be wind and shaken needles
I break my silence — my throat creaks
I implore “please be silent“:
She is louder than the wind ever was.
screaming even as her smell
tastes of joy
When I was a child, I tried to fly away on the wind
I used an umbrella in a hurricane
I was almost lifted away
but my mother pulled me down.
We lost the umbrella.
A hurricane is a storm
Strong enough to throw warships
Destroy buildings
Kill humans.
And humans are indestructible
Monsters breathe toxins.
We are not monsters.
They are falcon-fast, tree-strong
Swaying in wind only they feel
We are still, brittle
They sneeze
we snap like twigs
