Size / / /

The Earthmen come to my bedside

because I am the last

and there is no one else

to dance and sing for me.

It is so right, the sound,

the intonation, the grief

in their chanting, I forget—

almost—that I taught them

each to speak their alphabets,

the once and ancient way

we have done everything.

There are no children of my blood

because I have failed under the eye

of history to make a family

with another fullblood,

the wrong desires, wrong genes.

The children of my breath sing

and sing as though we had not gone

before them, as if tomorrow

there would still be beauty

in the islands to sing about.

Of course: the beach at Tuara,

the snow of Kek Auna, always

the surf against the rocks,

always the royalty out dancing.

The land has made us what we are.

Islands empty of us,

do my people still remain

in the slow-limbed, short-throated,

cold bodies who traveled here from Earth?




Mary Alexandra Agner writes of dead women, telescopes, and secrets. Her poetry, stories, and nonfiction have appeared in The Cascadia Subduction ZoneShenandoah, and Sky & Telescope, respectively. She can be found online at http://www.pantoum.org.
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
By: Eric Wang
By: Sara S. Messenger
Podcast read by: Ciro Faienza
Podcast read by: Sara S. Messenger
Issue 18 Apr 2022
By: Blaize Kelly Strothers
By: Ken Haponek
Podcast read by: Blaize Kelly Strothers
Podcast read by: Ken Haponek
Podcast read by: Ciro Faienza
Issue 11 Apr 2022
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By: Devin Miller
Art by: Alex Pernau
Podcast read by: Courtney Floyd
Issue 14 Mar 2022
Strange Horizons
Issue 7 Mar 2022
Strange Horizons
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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