Size / / /

Content warning:


9. The explosion cradles her gently,
weightless, so loud all is silent,
the swaddle of electric pepper
compressing like a mother’s heartbeat.

8. Is this when—

7. No, a path already woven cannot
be altered. The past has occurred,
and so has the future. She must
just be, in the here and now, every
coordinate a golden fiber in her being.

6. She traces the mistakes inscribed on
the infinite wax cylinder of the world,
ending in an ouroboric blaze of regret.

5. Here is a fantasy:
If she can truly start over, again,
she’d go back before the first hydrogen.
Before the first pings of light.
As an all-seeing god she can sheathe
the sword. Untie the knot by sending
the sheep back to pasture.

4. Knowing what happens only makes
it harder. How does Cassandra bears it,
fire pouring from her eyes nightly?

3. She realizes it now, because she has
always known, in her very name and
nature.
 
2. Antimatter is matter traveling
back in time. Our lines in spacetime
are snarled yarn. Headless. Tailless.
Death and birth the two infinite walls
we bounce between.

1. The world bares its entire self to
her from the inside out, stars upon
stars in the celestial womb.

0. “What do you mean, backwards?”


Hal Y. Zhang is a coder and lapsed physicist who splits her time between the east coast of the United States and the Internet, where she writes at halyzhang.com. Her chapbook AMNESIA is available through the Newfound Emerging Poets Series, and her collection Goddess Bandit of the Thousand Arms was published by Aqueduct Press.
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
Issue 8 Apr 2024
Issue 1 Apr 2024
Issue 25 Mar 2024
By: Sammy Lê
Art by: Kim Hu
Issue 18 Mar 2024
Strange Horizons
Issue 11 Mar 2024
Issue 4 Mar 2024
Issue 26 Feb 2024
Issue 19 Feb 2024
Issue 12 Feb 2024
Load More
%d bloggers like this: