Size / / /

Uranium's not that rare

but even so, it's not as if

you have to find it

and mine it and refine it

the way so much of everything goes missing

at every step from ore to end

and called shrinkage

     We always knew

     we weren't the only world, not even

     here in our own little system

     and now that they keep finding others

     by the wobbles of their suns

     red and blue shifts

     and simple common sense

Every ragtag and pissant

pissing his pants to get his hands

on the unholy grail, the way nukes change

everything, and make the big boys pee

theirs for a change

     That big bowl in Puerto Rico

     gulping in all that snap and crackle

     from all those stars out there

     and all those SETI screensavers

     sieving all that data

How hard can it be

to hijack or gather up

a few fissionable crumbs

and remember that undergrad from Princeton

who got an A from the State Department

     A few common elements in something liquid

     sunshine and lightning

     or sulfur and volcanic vents

     with time enough for many tries

     yearning for existence

How is it that

     there's no one but us

     and we're still here




K. J. Kirby came from the historic Hudson Valley and will not say how old she was before she learned that Ichabod Crane and Rip van Winkle were not actual personages. She recently emerged from the surreal fantasy world of tax preparation, and has a forthcoming poem in Abyss & Apex. You can contact her at kkkidder@commkey.net.
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.
Issue 13 Jan 2025
Issue 6 Jan 2025
By: Samantha Murray
Podcast read by: Jenna Hanchey
Issue 23 Dec 2024
Issue 16 Dec 2024
Issue 9 Dec 2024
Issue 2 Dec 2024
By: E.M. Linden
Podcast read by: Jenna Hanchey
Issue 25 Nov 2024
Issue 18 Nov 2024
By: Susannah Rand
Podcast read by: Claire McNerney
Issue 11 Nov 2024
Issue 4 Nov 2024
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