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You were born from a shadow, darkness coiling
around your flesh like a snake. You who were born
with no shadow, stars clenched between
plump fists. You sucked on those mineralized
meteorites, eyes shining silver, and they named you
Star Eater. Play your part, wear robes of velvet
night, hung with scales and teeth. You will be
called demon, monster, nightmare, evil, death.
But they do not know how the stars taste.



[Editor’s Note: Publication of this poem was made possible by a gift from Sangwany Kreng during our annual Kickstarter.]

Makena Metz writes for the page, screen, and stage and has an MFA in Creative Writing and MA in English from Chapman University. Makena is a proud member of DGA, ASCAP, WIA, Maestra, and the SCL. Follow her @ makenametz on social media and find her work on
Current Issue
25 Sep 2023

People who live in glass houses are surrounded by dirt birds
After a century, the first colony / of bluebirds flew out of my mouth.
Over and over the virulent water / beat my flame down to ash
In this episode of  Critical Friends , the Strange Horizons SFF criticism podcast, Aisha and Dan talk to critic and poet Catherine Rockwood about how reviewing and criticism feed into creative practice. Also, pirates.
Writing authentic stories may require you to make the same sacrifice. This is not a question of whether or not you are ready to write indigenous literature, but whether you are willing to do so. Whatever your decision, continue to be kind to indigenous writers. Do not ask us why we are not famous or complain about why we are not getting support for our work. There can only be one answer to that: people are too busy to care. At least you care, and that should be enough to keep my culture alive.
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