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Between the King and the Queen of Swords
fell Wonderland’s Hearts, unraveled like red muscle
off the ribs. No more
Cheshire, face moon-shaped, who leered tautologies. No
brazen Duchess—refusing to be led, the Swords obliged her
with their lead. To drown Dormouse
was easy work. Escaped bubbles sedate from snoring, deaf
to March Hare’s pedaling legs. I heard the Hatter
joined their league. Always willing to move one place
along, if his hands kept clean.
I had to run. What did I owe
a world that made no sense whichever monarch
gurned and roared for trial? Card men killed
no differently for sere white roses than
for loyalism. Save me
your goddamn sensibilities. The looking glass burned
beacon for me, and real life’s crushing gravity
is enough.
If in dreams I stalk White Rabbit
into burrows, out of schoolyards and birthday parties,
no matter. Someday teatime will have to satisfy
again, once I forget
the way they poured it in that place, a halved cup
shimmering open to the air. Perfect tensility.
The bottles here don't read ‘Drink Me,’ but they at least
will shrink the memories. In time it has to be
enough.



Sydney Sackett (she/her) is a newly graduated queer speculative fiction author and poet doing proofreading for work. Some of her writing appears in Etherea, Menacing Hedge, MONO., and Not One of Us. She can be found at https://sydneybsackett.wixsite.com/website, where she's hoping to edit some stories.
Current Issue
18 Mar 2024

Strange Horizons
We are very happy to welcome Dante Luiz as a new fiction editor on the team! Dante is a Ignyte Award winning author, and has been with Strange Horizons working as an Art Director for the past several years. We’re stoked to bring him on to the fiction side and have him bring his wonderful insight and skill to the fiction team.
Day in and day out, the rough waters of the Pacific slam themselves against the protrusion of sandstone the locals refer to as Morro Rock. White streaks of bird shit bleed down the rock, a testament to the rare birds of prey that nest in its pocked face overlooking the bay.
in my defence, juggling biological and artificial, i tripped over my shoelace, and spilled my lungs empty of the innocence that was, before guilt.
the birds, / who carry with them / the many names of the dead
Wednesday: Overlap: The Lives of a Former Time Jumper by N. Joseph Glass 
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