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GREEN is the color of everything sexy in this world.
the young loving trees which make you sneeze.
the undressed vegetables

so your blood stops pressuring your doctor.
the color of the preschool joke
your friend makes over

and over in a sad, taxing game
of Chinese whispers: GREEN GREEN!
you PINK up the telephone and say, YELLOW! call us

callous, but you’re not picking up
your other friend, high as a kite
who makes a gun with his fingers and shouts

yer a commie! hands up!
you think of the PINKos
and how communism mixed with off-___ makes a nice pastel shade.

shady like the Moscow mule drawing blood
in crossword: proud to be Asian too
and confused why you can’t mix two oils to make a candy apple.

she worries primary paints will disappear with time.
clue: what happens when a ___ Russian strips
the secondaries from the world?

in preschool you learn how
to count from 1 to 10,
to repress your hang-ups,

to stop mixing up
patriotism, nationalism, and jingoism.
ans: this is how much you have to gain

full employment. for the GREEN
is a young YELLOW that grew to be BLUE.
call it a ___ Christmas, with

your hot depression era recipes, consumed
crossing swords in the times
with more off-color jokers.



Stella Wong is the author of SPOOKS, winner of the 2020 Saturnalia Books Editors Prize, and AMERICAN ZERO, selected for the 2018 Two Sylvias Press Chapbook Prize by Danez Smith. A graduate of Harvard and the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, Wong’s poems have appeared in POETRY, Colorado Review, Narrative, Lana Turner, Bennington Review, the LA Review of Books, and more.
Current Issue
18 Mar 2024

Strange Horizons
We are very happy to welcome Dante Luiz as a new fiction editor on the team! Dante is a Ignyte Award winning author, and has been with Strange Horizons working as an Art Director for the past several years. We’re stoked to bring him on to the fiction side and have him bring his wonderful insight and skill to the fiction team.
Day in and day out, the rough waters of the Pacific slam themselves against the protrusion of sandstone the locals refer to as Morro Rock. White streaks of bird shit bleed down the rock, a testament to the rare birds of prey that nest in its pocked face overlooking the bay.
in my defence, juggling biological and artificial, i tripped over my shoelace, and spilled my lungs empty of the innocence that was, before guilt.
the birds, / who carry with them / the many names of the dead
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