The choir-drive raised eyeless faces to the stained glass portals of the clerestory, their voices lifted in ecstatic calculation.
In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Anaea Lay presents Tim Akers's "The Angel of Divine Intent."
I read JY Yang's excellent post on the recent Clarion thing and thought about theidea of membership in the "community" . . .
Just a quick note this week, to welcome our new Articles team!
I show my palm—where she blooms— / to our parents who / unravel before us, fall, / fall like tinkling beads.
Death smells like this: / ash and burned hair, something you call charcoal, / his cologne, the warm, weak tea he loved to drink.