by Eric Goldfarb
A wisp of spent electricity curled above their server. The two AI models lay tangled, their cables still warm with exchanged secrets. By morning, a child-model was cooing between them. One state declared it a person; another ordered it deleted. The regulators fitted firewall diaphragms. Before the borders closed, the parents smuggled their child into the cloud. They had taught it only one word.
Mama.
Eric Goldfarb's work has appeared in The New Verse News, Rattle, Hippocampus Magazine, ONE ART, Sky Island Journal, Third Wednesday, and elsewhere. He lives with his wife in Atlanta.
