Size / / /

Was this what you heard, Edvard Munch,

in that moment

when vision shrieked like a mad sunflower,

when the air turned blood

& event horizons

shimmered in the sunset?

Paint maelstroms into Milky Ways,

a bridge redshifts toward oblivion—

misshapen O

of summary horror,

parenthetical hands quoting void.

At the marrow of nature is death,

& you needed

no dismembered star to guide you:

you shared this galaxy's

endless scream

from the black hole of your birth.




Ann K. Schwader lives, writes, and volunteers at her local branch library in Westminster, CO. Her most recent poetry collection is Twisted in Dream (Hippocampus Press 2011). Her dark SF poetry collection Wild Hunt of the Stars (Sam's Dot Publishing, 2010) was a Bram Stoker Award nominee. She is a member of SFWA, HWA, and SFPA. Her LiveJournal is Yaddith Times.
Current Issue
25 Mar 2024

Looking back, I see that my initial hope for this episode was that the mud would have a heartbeat and a heart that has teeth and crippling anxiety. Some of that hope has become a reality, but at what cost?
to work under the / moon is to build a formidable tomorrow
Significantly, neither the humans nor the tigers are shown to possess an original or authoritative version of the narrative, and it is only in such collaborative and dialogic encounters that human-animal relations and entanglements can be dis-entangled.
By: Sammy Lê
Art by: Kim Hu
the train ascends a bridge over endless rows of houses made of beams from decommissioned factories, stripped hulls, salvaged engines—
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