Size / / /

Content warning:


Question: after conducting the statistics, a country was found in the teeth of the topmost trend on twitter. if in 2021, the country’s skin is occupied by the blood of its people and in 2022, its belly is occupied by their flesh:

a.  will the country complement their bodies with bones in 2023, if country intersects with (2021 ∪ 2022)? i.e., [country ∩ (2021 ∪ 2022)]'

b.  test [peace (p) = {} ∪ (2021 ∪ 2022)]

c.  [p ∪ (2021 ∪ 2022)] ∪ [inverse of (p) = {}]

 

Solution:

let country represent the anatomy of its people that are always chased out of their bodies.

country = {blood, flesh, bones}

set 2021 = {blood}

set 2022 = {flesh}

a.  will the country complement their bodies with bones in 2023, if country intersects with (2021 ∪ 2022)? i.e., [country ∩ (2021 ∪ 2022)]'

 

to sing our bones from running out of its body,
we marrow more music than wa(te)r & learn the language of survival.

if set (2021 ∪ 2022) equal the amount of blood pulsing
underneath the flesh of bodies that were poured
out of their dreams. out of their country’s veins.

then, complement of country intersection (2021 ∪ 2022) = [{blood, flesh, bones} ∩ {blood, flesh}]' = bones

yes, our bones have learnt the alchemy of dancing with the moon.

 

b.  test [peace (p) = {} ∪ (2021 ∪ 2022)]

note: this morning, the faces of voices, of lost bodies
wept as headlines, searching for their families
& i understood that wa(te)r
does not wash the red tint off the scalp of a bleeding ocean.

p = {} i.e., there is no peace

therefore, [(p) = {} ∪ (2021 ∪ 2022)] = blood & flesh.

note: i seared light into my tongue before entering this poem—stop grief
from pleating out of my taste bud—but it drowned in the first line.
can you see how wa(te)r dims the stars from blooming?
last night, under the mango tree, my father told us to avoid some roads.
some roots. some rooms. & every time his mouth winds out a(void),
it folds into air like the strand of my lost uncle’s hair.
to breathe again, i relearn how to sharpen my lungs in the {}
the war has tossed peace into.

 

c.  [p ∪ (2021 ∪ 2022)] ∪ [inverse of (p) = {}]

let the inverse of empty be filled with the roses of our mother’s prayers.

let the inverse of void be the emancipation of our bodies from bullets flood.

let the inverse of p = {} birth a country where dreams aren’t conveyed on paper boats.



Zaynab Bobi, Frontier I, is a Nigerian poet and digital artist. She is a member of HCAF. Her poems have appeared and are forthcoming in FIYAH, Anomaly, West Trade Review, and elsewhere. She tweets @ZainabBobi.
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 Subscribe to the Strange Horizons podcast on ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Spotify.
Wednesday: Motheater by Linda H. Codega 
Friday: Revising Reality: How Sequels, Remakes, Retcons, and Rejects Explain The World by Chris Gavaler and Nat Goldberg 
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
Load More