They flung his head onto his rust-kissed beater truck / like a drummer’s mallet smacks leather
Both our natal goddesses / fell to shivering lands / whose coasts are swallowed / and subsumed by floods
To me, he had always been living legend. Unattainable, spinning out of reach from me / like planets from their moons.
Before the sun rises, I’ll place my eyes back, / inside out. I want to see everything I was ever afraid of.
Tell me again that my kisses are magic, / that my mouth unfolds longing like a landslide.
I heard once, a rupture chooses who it wants to break.
In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Ciro Faienza presents poetry from the Indigenous SF special.
Both in and outside fiction, we are pushed to the past tense. The reality is, many Indigenous cultures in North America survived an apocalypse. The key word is survived. Any future with us in it, triumphant and flourishing, is a hopeful one.
The men had spent so much time together over the years, they practically knew each other's thoughts; thus, nothing needed to be said. Besides, nothing much happened to them that needed to be discussed anyway. Until the spaceship landed.
In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Anaea Lay presents Drew Hayden Taylor's "Take Us To Your Chief."