Cyn Grace Sylvie (she/they) is a queer neurodivergent writer and spiritual educator whose work explores the internal drives and subversive desires of human experience, through the lens of mythology, sensuality, magic and mysticism. Cyn is a recipient of Epiphany Magazine’s 2017 Short Nonfiction Prize, and long-listed as a Notable Nonfiction Selection in ‘The Best American Essays of 2018’ (Mariner Books). Their writing has appeared in The Literary Review, The Dewdrop, Open Secrets Magazine, and The Rumpus. They are the founder of TAROT CHURCH, an educational movement that aims to destigmatize tarot across faith systems. They are first generation Italian-American diaspora, and reside in Jersey City, NJ.
Feminine variation The mound bending Delos Isle Where she was born with her Brighter brother; a white pearl sown Upon a black dress quite becoming
Holy Roman epithet Frigid daughter of Leto Shouldering a slim bow She rounds upon the sacred doe An ancient beast; forever chasing
Grey sister, the Son of night Held aloft for all to see A mirror shield reflecting That frozen serpent ever doomed To consume itself, murdered then born
Virtuous Cynicism Mispronunciation of A Greek hero whose blood Became the plant; precious namesake Of my grandmother, gray-eyed and blind
We pass a glass between us, One sharp tooth to tear and rend This gold yarn ~ we dye red; Wet chords passed mother to child while She watches . . . pacing, quiet, unphased
(•)
~
My Father & His Lovers
Guiding by the hand he introduced us to the beasts within the stable
who adored him, so much that whatever he said would GO…
Into perked wet ears and black-brown eyes noble and dangerous; kind yet able; functional but frightened
of their ability to crush us with the slightest misstep –
God
How he loved to smack their tanned and tender hides;
by some magic of manipulation with slightest provocation four thin legs could hit a stride in a desperate race to get somewhere –
anywhere from there
I’ll never understand how such terrified beings moved with such brute grace.
He taught me to serve my carrots carefully lest they bite.
He taught me everything beautiful must be feared.
My favorite animal still, beautiful and skittish
~
The Recipe
I crack my heart against you like an egg
The slippery yolk slides over those cruel fingers
And you smile, satisfied, as it runs down my leg.
~
The Lesson
You tell me not to bite We don’t bite We never bite you say and slap me hard
My cheek buzzing from the sting I stare back and say nothing but my eyes can’t stay shut quite as well as my mouth refuse to keep quiet always tell the truth from across an expanse of inches
they spit and they hiss and they whisper
what point is this soft thing this weak pink palette of skin without these tiny knives what point if not to rend and snap and graze and generally misbehave
how delicate you must be if you can’t bear such tiny pearls
I have two mouths and if you can’t handle one then by all means take the other
These things I do not say but say speaking the language of my gaze head tilted jaw set eye ablaze
You watch them state their case amused then lean across the divide and say
I won’t
let you
anywhere
near it
until you
can control
that mouth.
***
Another night we roll in the darkness we tussle we writhe I feel your teeth nip at my neck my hand darts out and strikes
Your cheek buzzing from the sting I tell you
We don’t bite We never bite
And bite back
as you sink
inside me.
~
The Arrow
Exquisite archer who has me strung up like a fine bow crafts me in his able hands just so I bend the way he wants and needs it pleases him to see me pulled apart readied for his fatal dart placed between my wood and string then bent before him He pulls and I sing.
Cyn Grace Sylvie 