When the insensate currents finally calm, I am alone in foreign waters, still tangled in the kelp where I had intended to give birth. My eggs are heavy; the uprooted end of the kelp tickles my stomach. The sea here is cold and dense, murky with the storm. I do not panic.
the feeling of being swept off your feet
Take a walnut glazed/ with the honey of their name / crush it with a mortar and pestle/ let the pythons wrap themselves around you/ till you learn again to breathe/ underwater
In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Ciro Faienza presents the poetry of the 14 February issue, including a reading by poet Gretchen Tessmer.
