Size / / /

Content warning:



The word for our current collective is covey,
I think; we, even as two, are a grouping
of people, huddled in brambles of being before us—

Who? You may ask. Our call: Who-We, like
owls sounding like they are quite enjoying themselves.
Who-we: a you, a me, a you in past hopes,

a me in memory, a you of distance new when you
mention events I was not there for, now privy
to, the you of certain pasts, the me of now in your pasts.

That last I interact with like the boorish friend of a friend
at a party in my own house. The “plus one” of pasts.
We, plus me in the past. I search out collective nouns

for birds. We thought we might choose an altricial species.
Realigning, accepting avian instinct into our minds, lives,
is the why for scrimping on clothes and celebrations.

We collect enough for the elective surgery. Altricial, I think,
woodpeckers, herons, or owls, even. Whooo-whoo.
Our lives, but with the precision of birds.

We checked boxes for allopreening, allofeeding.
The online tests suggest Quaker Parrots. Collectively,
they are a prattle, a company, or a pandemonium.

There is no negotiation in a flock rising, no truisms, no advice,
such as never leave anger

between you, while you sleep. The company
literature offers no guarantee of shared purpose,
the technician joked something like that is
“the province of MMORPGs,” but this first morning, we are

cuddled in covers effortlessly and wake
in the same instance and rise into the morning
as one, and move into the kitchen for coffee,
ease into seats, and the coffeemaker’s timer’s work,
and we drink. There is a sound for this, that accompanies,
that means this, does not explain, means, and we will call it,
a catch in my throat, a knot, a gasp, wait, while I clear it, but you
do not wait or call and the coffee waits, and I will not speak,
words will be for work, for others. We will call, we will call, I gasp,
stretch my neck out

didyoudream didyoudream didyoudreamofme
didyoudream didyoudream didyoudreamofme



RMac Jones coedited the anthology Found Anew: Poetry and Prose Inspired by the South Caroliniana Library Digital Collections. His poems have appeared in NonBinary ReviewStar*LineUnlost JournalEye to the Telescope, and elsewhere.
Current Issue
17 Feb 2025

crocodile, crocodile, may we cross your river?
We have always / been a ghosthouse
In this episode of Strange Horizons at 25, Kat Kourbeti sits down with longtime friend and Seattle Worldcon Poet Laureate Brandon O'Brien, chatting all things speculative poetry, and the impact of markets that have many readers and editors—hey wait, that's us!
The city is no place for a spider.
Wednesday: Rakesfall by Vajra Chandrasekera 
Friday: High Vaultage by Chris and Jen Sugden 
Issue 10 Feb 2025
By: Alexandra Munck
Podcast read by: Claire McNerney
Issue 27 Jan 2025
By: River
Issue 20 Jan 2025
Strange Horizons
By: Michelle Kulwicki
Podcast read by: Emmie Christie
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
Load More