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Becoming Emma Frost took work.
First I had to turn hard
as lacquered nails; as ice; as a first-water diamond,
cut to draw first blood. I schooled
myself in the minutiae of self-possession,
mascara, rouge, latex and satin, where to show skin,
and when to flirt, and what I wouldn’t mind.

In youth I tried to mind
my manners. It didn’t work,
not even in school.
My brother, who shared almost everything but my skin,
my brother who found the world so hard
he did not want to remain here—my lost diamond,
who only needed a setting, who could possess

an enterprise or an empire, but never his unprepossess-
ing self, ran away to live inside his mind.
Growing up was like living inside a diamond:
to find my proper work
I had to buy a whole school.
The poise that for most of you would be hard
to keep up for an hour is now like a second skin.

Imagine if you had—so to speak—no skin.
If anybody could borrow your locked-up possessions.
What made you weep. What got you wet, or hard.
I think you’d want to hide. I think you’d mind.
Could you romance that way? Could you make it work?
My love once did. He was my rock. I was his diamond.
I bet you’d rather relive middle school.

Some days it’s like anywhere I go is a school,
with me the only teacher. The baseball diamond,
the dance studio, the gym, rules for who gets to show skin
and who has to run home and change, how to mark homework
and when to hand it back, and what possessions
you get to keep in your locker: of course I mind—
no vacation from running this place. Of course it’s hard.

But I can tell you what's truly, implacably hard:
losing one student, one kid that's yours. Then no diamond-
platinum-level pass for any club that any mind
on earth could fashion, no finishing school’s
velvet etiquette, could walk that back, skin
that cat, get a grip, or ever take possession
of such a grief-blasted heart. Then nothing works.

So I will be my own diamond. I will continue my radiant work.
I will risk all I possess, my darlings. It’s hard,
but under my flawless skin, in my well-prepared mind,
I have all the power I need. The world is my school.



Stephanie Burt is Professor of English at Harvard. Her latest books are After Callimachus and Don’t Read Poetry: A Book About How to Read Poems. She’s @accommodatingly on Twitter.

Current Issue
20 Jan 2025

Strange Horizons
Surveillance technology looms large in our lives, sold to us as tools for safety, justice, and convenience. Yet the reality is far more sinister.
Vans and campers, sizeable mobile cabins and some that were barely more than tents. Each one a home, a storefront, and a statement of identity, from the colorful translucent windows and domes that harvested sunlight to the stickers and graffiti that attested to places travelled.
“Don’t ask me how, but I found out this big account on queer Threads is some kind of super Watcher.” Charlii spins her laptop around so the others can see. “They call them Keepers, and they watch the people that the state’s apparatus has tagged as terrorists. Not just the ones the FBI created. The big fish. And people like us, I guess.”
It's 9 a.m., she still hasn't eaten her portion of tofu eggs with seaweed, and Amaia wants the day to be over.
Nadjea always knew her last night in the Clave would get wild: they’re the only sector of the city where drink and drug and dance are unrestricted, and since one of the main Clavist tenets is the pursuit of corporeal joy in all its forms, they’ve more or less refined partying to an art.
surviving / while black / is our superpower / we lift broken down / cars / over our heads / and that’s just a tuesday
After a few deft movements, she tossed the cube back to James, perfectly solved. “We’re going to break into the Seattle Police Department’s database. And you’re going to help me do it.”
there are things that are toxic to a bo(d)y
By: Michelle Kulwicki
Podcast read by: Emmie Christie
  In this episode of the Strange Horizons Fiction podcast, Michael Ireland presents Michelle Kulwicki's 'Bee Season' read by Emmie Christie Subscribe to the Strange Horizons podcast on ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Spotify.
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Friday: Revising Reality: How Sequels, Remakes, Retcons, and Rejects Explain The World by Chris Gavaler and Nat Goldberg 
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