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She said, i set my love out over an ocean of space
in a ship made of recycled parts, and
if i do and if i don’t miss his dear body
then is that a healthy love?

when you feel a face so close
that it starts to be one feature
in your hands that touch any body—
how do you know if it fits like a glove?

then, She said, you measure your pace,
keep time with quiet hands, not singing hearts.
You will know when: when no body
can shove you off balance—

then you’ve found the place,
thin as a blade with an edge that smarts,
where everybody can feel your face
like a crucial lever, like a restless dove.



Rasha is a queer Palestinian Southerner who grew up between Damascus, Syria and rural Georgia and cut their teeth organizing on the southsides of Atlanta and Chicago. They are a member of Alternate ROOTS, Southerners on New Ground, Justice for Muslims Healing Collective, and the Radius of Arab American Writers (RAWI). Rasha's work has appeared in Mizna, Room, Lambda Literary, and Strange Horizons, and is anthologized in Luminescent Threads: Connections to Octavia Butler and Halal if You Hear Me. As a community technologist, urban farmer, and once and future beekeeper, Rasha is a geek for science both fiction and fact. You can find them tweeting @rashaabdulhadi.
Current Issue
9 Sep 2024

A woman stands in my childhood bedroom, and she wears my face.
each post-apocalyptic dawn / a chorus breaks from shore to shore.
Her spacewalk ended when her oxygen ran out. She should have expired only she didn’t.
Wednesday: MADNESS by Gabriel Ojeda-Sagué 
Friday: Luminous Beings by David Arnold and Jose Pimienta 
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