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can it come in jars?
no, does it
in dozens, that’s what you mean
she thinks, dreaming
but zero gravity
condenses nothing
least of all
the feeling of
being swept off your feet
which she’s always considered
a strange expression
as she imagines
a giant-sized broom
would be needed
and what is she even? a dust bunny
hiding beneath
a castle wardrobe
quivering
gnashing her rabbit-sized teeth?
but in any case
there’s a sense of falling
like in those dreams
where you jar yourself awake
wondering
what’s my name, why’m I here
and what is this hideous place?
before conscious thought
sets in
fossilized
and everything wild
and wonder-touched
dissolves
like a drop of ink
in a dish of milk
and the cat tastes nothing
fishy



Gretchen Tessmer is a writer based in the U.S./Canadian borderlands. She writes both short fiction and poetry (way too much poetry), with work appearing in such venues as Nature, Daily Science Fiction, Cast of Wonders, and The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, as well as a previous appearance in Strange Horizons.
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5 Dec 2022

We found you, and you alone, in a universe that had forgotten to die.
there is something queer about this intention—
In my calculus class was a man in an iridescent polo and pigeon feathers in his dark, tangled hair.
Wednesday: Nona the Ninth by Tamsin Muir 
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