Size / / /

Content warning:



The last time I drove the highway, there were pieces of a bridge on trucks I
passed. Looking in the rear-view mirror, I wished I knew what it meant to be
connected.

I heard once, a rupture chooses who it wants to break.

The 1st time I taught poetry, the kids kicked a dead crow outside. I ran outside to
stop and asked: Why would you do that? They said, pain demands to be felt.

All my exes live in story. The last man I dated texted me: Love is verbing. Our
existence is verbing.

He became obsessed with horses, kept his camera eyes rolling like all
life’s answers were hidden in the muscles of a horse’s shudder.

I teach the etymology of colonized. Colon—body politic, a snake swallowing
everything.

Even the flies circling our table that day knew what I was too afraid to
admit. Our love was rotting.

When he broke up with me he wanted to build a spaceship. He figured out how to
travel the time he blames for everything.

In Oregon there’s a city named Echo. Every year, I drive by it, shouting: What are
you so afraid of? I keep hoping one day I’ll hear myself answer.

I wonder if every man I ever loved eventually goes mad?

One opens his mouth and pulls out rose petals thinking he'll find what started all
this blooming. Another paints his organs outside of his body, brush-strokes his
heart into beating again and again, before cocking his gun. Reload.

The next time I saw him, he was writing a battle on his forearm, asked me if I
knew about surrender. Pop pop pop bullets flying out of his arteries onto his
hand. I walked away listening to him shoot imaginary bullets at the back of my
head.



Tanaya Winder is an entrepreneur, motivational speaker, and performance poet from the Southern Ute, Duckwater Shoshone, and Pyramid Lake Paiute Nations.  She graduated from Stanford University, and her first book, Words Like Love, was published in 2015.  Tanaya founded Dream Warriors, an Indigenous artist management company.
Current Issue
10 Jan 2022

Angela says if I want to film the rituals, I cannot do so as an outsider or a guest. The rituals are private, she says, and a secret. That is the problem, I say, I want to film them because they are a secret.
Before she knew it, she was falling out of the sky like a waterfall and through a canopy of thick, wet leaves. Fell hard into the soil.
There is a djinn for everything: every act of forgetting, every act of remembering. Every act of oppression, every act of protest. Every act of civil resistance, every arrest, every injury, every death. There is a selfish djinn, and a selfless djinn. There is a djinn for beauty, a djinn for zakhm, a djinn for kindness, a djinn for empathy. A djinn for absence, a djinn for inaction; a djinn for climate, a djinn for crisis, a djinn for war, a djinn for peace. What are words but
Issue 3 Jan 2022
Strange Horizons
By: Antonio Funches
By: Lev Mirov
Podcast read by: Ciro Faienza
Issue 20 Dec 2021
By: Merie Kirby
Podcast read by: Ciro Faienza
Issue 13 Dec 2021
By: Freydís Moon
Podcast read by: Ciro Faienza
Issue 6 Dec 2021
By: C. S. E. Cooney
Podcast read by: Ciro Faienza
Podcast read by: C. S. E. Cooney
Issue 29 Nov 2021
Issue 22 Nov 2021
Issue 15 Nov 2021
By: Madeline Grigg
Podcast read by: Ciro Faienza
Issue 8 Nov 2021
By: Allison Parrish
Podcast read by: Ciro Faienza
Issue 1 Nov 2021
By: Liam Corley
Podcast read by: Ciro Faienza
Podcast read by: Liam Corley
Issue 25 Oct 2021
Strange Horizons
Load More
%d bloggers like this: