Size / / /

Given to the frost these autumn colors

long years awaited, months to build & blaze

their gorgeous warning through a countryside

our children will not know. Eternal days

gutter like tapers toward aphelion:

time now for winter shelter, winter ways.

Given to the frost our fragile cities

bright with banners, dance, & brilliant song

offered up in sunlight. Wine flowed gladly

here amid these fountains, where a strong

northern gust whips whitecaps cold as snow

sifting through a season decades long.

Given to the frost vain thoughts of plenty:

uncounted loaves & fishes, crumbs to spare

for all who ride this rock into the exile

our fickle star requires. No mystics there

will multiply a harvest—or create

one extra drop of water, breath of air.

Given to the frost our lost & stateless,

grasshoppers of a summer fading fast

as faces in the nightmares we'll deny

next morning to each other. Past is past,

the dry leaves whisper, drifting deep across

our hatchways locked & sealed & safe at last.




Ann K. Schwader lives, writes, and volunteers at her local branch library in Westminster, CO. Her most recent poetry collection is Twisted in Dream (Hippocampus Press 2011). Her dark SF poetry collection Wild Hunt of the Stars (Sam's Dot Publishing, 2010) was a Bram Stoker Award nominee. She is a member of SFWA, HWA, and SFPA. Her LiveJournal is Yaddith Times.
Current Issue
22 Apr 2024

We’d been on holiday at the Shoon Sea only three days when the incident occurred. Dr. Gar had been staying there a few months for medical research and had urged me and my friend Shooshooey to visit.
...
Tu enfiles longuement la chemise des murs,/ tout comme d’autres le font avec la chemise de la mort.
The little monster was not born like a human child, yelling with cold and terror as he left his mother’s womb. He had come to life little by little, on the high, three-legged bench. When his eyes had opened, they met the eyes of the broad-shouldered sculptor, watching them tenderly.
Le petit monstre n’était pas né comme un enfant des hommes, criant de froid et de terreur au sortir du ventre maternel. Il avait pris vie peu à peu, sur la haute selle à trois pieds, et quand ses yeux s’étaient ouverts, ils avaient rencontré ceux du sculpteur aux larges épaules, qui le regardaient tendrement.
We're delighted to welcome Nat Paterson to the blog, to tell us more about his translation of Léopold Chauveau's story 'The Little Monster'/ 'Le Petit Monstre', which appears in our April 2024 issue.
For a long time now you’ve put on the shirt of the walls,/just as others might put on a shroud.
Issue 15 Apr 2024
By: Ana Hurtado
Art by: delila
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Issue 25 Mar 2024
By: Sammy Lê
Art by: Kim Hu
Issue 18 Mar 2024
Strange Horizons
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Issue 26 Feb 2024
Issue 19 Feb 2024
Issue 12 Feb 2024
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