Size / / /

tell me how many men

must i have roll off me

in the night and wake

to find my husbands dead again?

black widowed into whoredom,

i am a patient woman, waiting

lifetimes, sitting on the side of the road,

ready to grasp with both hands

a lonely soul needing night-comfort.

there is a journey

through the realm of curses,

barrenness to push

in front of you—a broken cart,

God's displeasure,

call it what you will.

still, i plan to take the lion by the mane

and wrestle him till dawn,

will wear his bracelet

and pretty trinkets

until twins claw their way

into history, scarlet bound.

every step,

a bruise closer

to the serpent's head.




Nancy Hightower lectures on the rhetorics of the grotesque and fantastic in art, film, and literature. She is an art columnist for Weird Fiction Review and has had work published in Word Riot, Prick of the Spindle, storySouth, and Bourbon Penn, among others.
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18 Nov 2024

Your distress signals are understood
Somehow we’re now Harold Lloyd/Jackie Chan, letting go of the minute hand
It was always a beautiful day on April 22, 1952.
By: Susannah Rand
Podcast read by: Claire McNerney
In this episode of the Strange Horizons Fiction podcast, Michael Ireland presents Little Lila by Susannah Rand, read by Claire McNerney. Subscribe to the Strange Horizons podcast: Spotify
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