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In my sleep god says

that I do not wear my body well.

He knows I am running from it

just as home has been running from me.

There is a thing about the body and home that we sometimes forget.

It’s like constant in equations and formulae.

The last time I was asked where I come from,

my whole body trembled like a cracked glass about to shatter.

I was reminded of war and home in one sentence:

in that manner you see a closing fist, or

the kind of wound you do not know how to survive and heal.

Home is become where I do not know how to pronounce.

When I try to spell it, I find no syllables, no transcriptions.

Or try to pray it, I remember my childhood

when I played in my dreams instead as playgrounds

had turned into beds for grenades and shells and shrapnel.

Then blood gurgled down the corners, the streets and the rivers.

Perhaps, it’s why I carry palaces of memories with me, everywhere.

And people, they say, build palaces so they will never forget their past.

They say home is a truth stranger than fiction.

I do not want to believe. I do not want to believe.

When I wake up each morning, I search the

grounds to understand what a home really is,

as mine has denied me its meaning

and drags me by the heels off its stomach,

and says I cannot lick its wars.



Chinua Ezenwa-Ohaeto is from Owerri-Nkworji in Nkwerre, Imo state, Nigeria, and a lover of literature. Recently, he won the Castello di Duino Poesia Prize for an unpublished poem, 2018. And some of his works have appeared in Lunaris Review, AFREADA, Raffish Magazine, Kalahari Review, Praxismagazine, Bakwa Magazine, One, Ake Review, and Crannòg magazine. You can find him on twitter @chinuaezenwa.
Current Issue
19 Oct 2020

We wear the masks long after penguins have been extinguished. By now we are hauntresses, hordes of extinction shuffling along the city streets under the excruciating weathers of this brutal world we’ve inherited. Individually, we are called pinguinos. It’s something to do; the world is depressed and none of us have jobs.
Podcast read by: Anaea Lay
In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Anaea Lay presents Noah Bogdonoff's “Ask Not What the Penguin Horde Can Do For You.”
I may be eyeless but I can see through the eyes of everyone and everything. My parents put cameras all over the house
By: Aber O. Grand
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In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Ciro Faienza presents Aber O. Grand's “Marbles.”
Fiction submissions will close for November-December 2020. This means that the last window for general fiction submissions in 2020 will be October 26-27. Get your stories ready or hold them until January 2021. Fiction submissions for the Palestinian Special issue will open in November 2020!
Issue 12 Oct 2020
By: Elisabeth R. Moore
Podcast read by: Anaea Lay
By: Stephanie Jean
Podcast read by: Ciro Faienza
Issue 5 Oct 2020
By: J.L. Akagi
Podcast read by: Anaea Lay
By: Lesley Wheeler
Podcast read by: Ciro Faienza
Podcast read by: Lesley Wheeler
Issue 28 Sep 2020
By: Maggie Damken
Podcast read by: Ciro Faienza
Issue 21 Sep 2020
By: Aqdas Aftab
Podcast read by: Anaea Lay
By: David Clink
Podcast read by: Ciro Faienza
Issue 14 Sep 2020
By: Fargo Tbakhi
Podcast read by: Anaea Lay
By: Jenny Blackford
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Issue 7 Sep 2020
By: Catherynne M. Valente
Podcast read by: Anaea Lay
By: Bethany Powell
Podcast read by: Ciro Faienza
Podcast read by: Bethany Powell
Issue 31 Aug 2020
By: R.B. Lemberg
By: Julia Rios
By: Sonya Taaffe
Podcast read by: Ciro Faienza
Podcast read by: R.B. Lemberg
Podcast read by: Julia Rios
Podcast read by: Sonya Taaffe
Issue 24 Aug 2020
By: Leslie J. Anderson
Podcast read by: Ciro Faienza
Podcast read by: Leslie J. Anderson
Issue 17 Aug 2020
By: Emma Törzs
Podcast read by: Anaea Lay
By: Liz Adair
Podcast read by: Ciro Faienza
Issue 10 Aug 2020
By: Anya Johanna DeNiro
Podcast read by: Anaea Lay
By: Laura Cranehill
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