Size / / /

Content warning:


i was born at twilight
always looking for the hour
when the moon and the sun
share the sky

looking for a home
they can share
against this wedge of darkness

i carry in my side
eve's rib
the forgotten mother
of a drunk tongue
or an angry name

buzzing like a mouthful of moths
or maybe just one
pressed to my wrist

a reminder of mistakes
of fathers already gone
and mothers hiding in their own minds

my nimble fingers
no match for my palms
or the too soft soles
of my feet

a lie written in sunsets
a misstep only at dusk
when the sky bleeds
and the moon sighs
to the metronome
of the long nights

no sense in breaking lines
to fit into my teeth
like a body getting softer
when it should know better

in the dreams of traitors
i watch at night
too sharp to keep
when the sun is
high in the sky

and my fevered brain
and the sweat falling
between my breasts

just a story
without a protagonist
a backdrop for an illusion
too elaborate to ground

an unbroken list
of blurry words
and jagged lines



Rabha Ashry is Egyptian, from Abu Dhabi, and based in Chicago. A New York University Abu Dhabi graduate, she is currently completing an MFA in Writing at School of the Arts Institute of Chicago. She spends a lot of time scribbling short poems in her notebook, smoking menthols, and looking lost. Hearing her name pronounced right makes her happy in a way she can't quite describe, and she speaks to her roommate's cats in Arabic because she knows they speak Arabic too.
Current Issue
20 Jan 2025

Strange Horizons
Surveillance technology looms large in our lives, sold to us as tools for safety, justice, and convenience. Yet the reality is far more sinister.
Vans and campers, sizeable mobile cabins and some that were barely more than tents. Each one a home, a storefront, and a statement of identity, from the colorful translucent windows and domes that harvested sunlight to the stickers and graffiti that attested to places travelled.
“Don’t ask me how, but I found out this big account on queer Threads is some kind of super Watcher.” Charlii spins her laptop around so the others can see. “They call them Keepers, and they watch the people that the state’s apparatus has tagged as terrorists. Not just the ones the FBI created. The big fish. And people like us, I guess.”
It's 9 a.m., she still hasn't eaten her portion of tofu eggs with seaweed, and Amaia wants the day to be over.
Nadjea always knew her last night in the Clave would get wild: they’re the only sector of the city where drink and drug and dance are unrestricted, and since one of the main Clavist tenets is the pursuit of corporeal joy in all its forms, they’ve more or less refined partying to an art.
surviving / while black / is our superpower / we lift broken down / cars / over our heads / and that’s just a tuesday
After a few deft movements, she tossed the cube back to James, perfectly solved. “We’re going to break into the Seattle Police Department’s database. And you’re going to help me do it.”
there are things that are toxic to a bo(d)y
By: Michelle Kulwicki
Podcast read by: Emmie Christie
  In this episode of the Strange Horizons Fiction podcast, Michael Ireland presents Michelle Kulwicki's 'Bee Season' read by Emmie Christie Subscribe to the Strange Horizons podcast on ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Spotify.
Wednesday: Motheater by Linda H. Codega 
Friday: Revising Reality: How Sequels, Remakes, Retcons, and Rejects Explain The World by Chris Gavaler and Nat Goldberg 
Issue 13 Jan 2025
Issue 6 Jan 2025
By: Samantha Murray
Podcast read by: Jenna Hanchey
Issue 23 Dec 2024
Issue 16 Dec 2024
Issue 9 Dec 2024
Issue 2 Dec 2024
By: E.M. Linden
Podcast read by: Jenna Hanchey
Issue 25 Nov 2024
Issue 18 Nov 2024
By: Susannah Rand
Podcast read by: Claire McNerney
Issue 11 Nov 2024
Issue 4 Nov 2024
Load More