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They say they want you to catch the man in the moon,
So they have you lay back and unravel your braid
And look up.

“Tell us when you find him,”
they say,
and you promise that you will,
because you haven’t seen anyone else do otherwise.

You lay back and look up
And your hair spreads behind you like a net
And you wonder why they want to catch
The man in the moon.

As far as you are concerned,
There is no man in the moon,
But she does have long fingers of light that she pulls through your hair.
She twists it around in her hands,
And pulls strands of it together,
And her touch is gentle and warm.

Her hand over yours in the cool, clear water,
And you don’t tell anyone that you have found her,
Because she is not theirs and this isn’t what they asked for at all.

D.A. Vorobyov was born in Russia and grew up in the southern United States. His work can be found in Strange Horizons and Glittership. When they’re not writing, they can be found practicing fencing or playing video games.
Current Issue
21 Sep 2022

There is little more inspirational than a writer who devotes her talents to the work of others.
I was twelve when my mother was born. Twelve or thereabouts. If I’d been older, I could have said things like I never wanted to be a daughter; I don’t have a filial bone in my body. Relatives could have tilted their heads at me, insisting I’d change my mind. But I was twelve so I said nothing. I had no relatives.
a few miles from the fallout zone. / You double-check the index card
Unripe morning / cut open too soon
Issue 12 Sep 2022
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By: Cat T.
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