Size / / /

". . . much is passed on, you see. Oh, not the

surface—the face is due to my mother's mother,

who was by all accounts a stunner—but the other

side, the hidden legacy. For me it comes in a love of

feathered headdresses, and abiding dreams of flight . . .

". . . remember that swans are mute. He couldn't have

given a warning even if he'd wanted to, though by then

he'd given up trying. Because no one is more fixed by fate

than the gods. Thunder and lightning and tides, yes:

but we need only stories to hold them. Cages of words,

each one a sharp sliver of bronze, pinning them in place forever . . .

". . . so I can't blame him for a momentary lust

instantly quenched and eagerly forgotten.

He was my father. And despite the way that inevitably

turns out, it means something to me . . ."

(. . . and I'm listening, trying hard to understand. I don't even know why I want her . . .)

Chris Szego lives and works in Toronto, and is the manager of Bakka-Phoenix Books, Canada's oldest SFF bookstore. 
Current Issue
19 Feb 2024

That was Father—a storm in a drought, a comet in the night. Acting first, thinking later, carried on not by foresight, but on luck’s slippery feet. And so we were not as surprised as we should have been when, one warm night in our tenth year on the mountain, Father showed us the flying machine.
The first time I saw stone and Bone in ocean
This is it. This is the decision that keeps you up at night.
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