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I am the king's daughter slaughtered.
I am a thrall, enthralled, I charm the ocean
into calmness and surcease. I am
a witchwood, hazel woman
smooth as flesh, woven and crafted
and cast from the cliff.
I am a carven queen, a saint,
a pretty thing to bless the ship
with good luck and swift passage.

What do you hope to turn away?
You know that blood must bless the sea,
you people of the shores and crags
and salt-strewn settlements forget slowly:
the ceremony stands: I go before you as a sacrifice
and sink through brine and black water
and plant my feet upon a field
of blue-faced girls who bloom and snarl:
we are your legacy, your lineage, your litany,
the faces that will eat you when you drown.




Margaret Wack is a writer, poet, and classicist whose work has been published in Strange Horizons, Liminality, Twisted Moon, and others.  More can be found at margaretwack.com.
Current Issue
16 May 2022

we are whispered into this new land, this old land, whispered anew
i tuck myselves under coffin nails. and then i am the sun like a nairobi fly, burning spine and skin.
The last deer in heaven flees, and Sestu pursues.
Issue 9 May 2022
Podcast: 9 May Poetry 
Issue 2 May 2022
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Podcast read by: Ciro Faienza
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By: Devin Miller
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28 Feb 2022
We would like stories that are joyous, horrific, hopeful, despondent, powerful and subtle. Write something that will take our breath away, make us yell and cry. Write unapologetically in your local patois and basilects in space; make references to local events and memes to your heart’s content. Write something that makes you laugh and cry. Indulge in all the hallmarks of your heritage that you find yourself yearning for in speculative literature, but know that we will not judge you based on your authenticity as a Southeast Asian. 
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