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I think I am decomposing.

Wrapped in the linens you brought me,
your strong mother’s hands winding them
around and around
around
and
around
until I was cocooned in a shell of flax and camphor,
bergamot and crushed honeysuckle.
Now the sacred oils slick my melting skin.
One form to another, you whispered,
and I think, one form to another, as
the linens pull tighter, squeezing my bones,
crushing them into sharp fragmented shards
like the seashells we gathered when I was a child,
still living in a child’s form.

You never told me I would be awake.
You never told me I would be aware

as the oils seep in between the atoms of my body,
stretching them apart,
whispering to the strands of my DNA that
it is time, now, to let go of my youth, so
careless and ephemeral, with a body to match,
a body never meant to be eternal.
It is time for me to turn hard and beautiful,
an indestructible thing who can bear the
horrors of the universe on her shoulders.
Skin like stone armor,
teeth like glass daggers,
eyes like red suns.

In a month’s time,
when your strong mother’s hands peel the
linens away, I will be transformed:
No longer your daughter
but a soldier
a weapon
an act of violence.

Until that moment comes, I am
nothing but genetic matter. The only
stage of my life when
I am nothing but myself.



Cassandra Rose Clarke grew up in south Texas and currently lives in a suburb of Houston, where she writes and teaches composition at a pair of local colleges. She holds an M.A. in creative writing from The University of Texas at Austin, and in 2010 she attended the Clarion West Writer’s Workshop in Seattle. Her work has been nominated for the Philip K. Dick Award, the Romantic Times Reviewer's Choice Award, and YALSA's Best Fiction for Young Adults. Her latest novel is Star's End, forthcoming from Saga Press. Visit her online at www.cassandraroseclarke.com
Current Issue
28 Apr 2025

By: Sofia Rhei
Translated by: Marian Womack
When the flint salamander stopped talking, its lava eyes dimmed and it sank back into the sand. Some of the scales on its upper body still poked out, here and there, as though they were part of no living creature, but simply stones scattered across the surface. 
Cuando la salamandra de sílex terminó de hablar, sus ojos de lava se apagaron y volvió a hundirse en la arena. Algunas de las escamas de su parte superior asomaban aún, aquí y allá, como si no formaran parte de un mismo cuerpo vivo, como si no fueran más que unas cuantas piedras dispuestas al azar.
By: Bella Han
Translated by: Bella Han
I am waiting for Helen on her fiftieth birthday. On the table, there’s a crystal drinking glass and a vase with rare orchids; I can’t tell if the flowers are genuine or not. Faint piano notes and a cold scent drift in the air.
我在等待海伦,为她庆祝五十岁生日。面前是一杯水,一瓶花。杯子是水晶杯,花是垂着头的兰花,不知道是真是假。
When the branches veer towards the ground you can/ climb the trees—up and up, just as you’d ditch/ ladder rungs you’re standing on.
Wenn die Zweige zum Boden geneigt sind kannst du/ auf den Baum klettern immer weiter so wie man/ die Leiter wegwirft auf der man steht
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