Size / / /

Content warning:

I will count to infinity knowing the impossibility
      of getting there, then attack
primes who will inflict pain, still 2, 3, 5…
If I go subatomic, will I desire a particular
   flavor of quark?

I’d like clarity on the color red and all
    of its friends. Do we see
the same shade or is it a hue? My favorite
color is green mixed with a smidge blue,
    but is color real or reflection of light?

Whales sound sad when they sing.
    Is that merely my perception of them
while communicating? I know scientific
knowledge about yesteryear is crucial, learn
     from mistakes, but displaying those

who’ve passed is controversial. Let them rest.
      Back to green. I’d like fake grass.
Ten minutes after a cut, those blades stretch
growing back. Water. A basic need, what we
    are mostly composed of, so why is it

so difficult to keep clean? I cannot ever open
     the plastic vegetable bags at the market.
In the deep, way below sunlight what must those
creatures think if a speck of light violates?
    It might seem otherworldly like a UFO.

Those things. Triangular, beyond bright, caught me
      off-guard looking for Mars that night.
Scary, a thrill watching three scattering about as if
playing tag in the atmosphere. I shall let go
        of believing…we are alone.

Nora Weston is a Michigan-based writer/artist. Her work has appeared in James Gunn’s Ad Astra, Green Ink Poetry, and Crow Toes Quarterly. Penumbric Speculative Fiction Magazine and Timber Ghost Press have accepted poetry. Most terrifying to Nora are teenagers with driving permits. She has taught six of these creatures to drive. Twitter: almostsanelady.
Current Issue
25 Sep 2023

People who live in glass houses are surrounded by dirt birds
After a century, the first colony / of bluebirds flew out of my mouth.
Over and over the virulent water / beat my flame down to ash
In this episode of  Critical Friends , the Strange Horizons SFF criticism podcast, Aisha and Dan talk to critic and poet Catherine Rockwood about how reviewing and criticism feed into creative practice. Also, pirates.
Writing authentic stories may require you to make the same sacrifice. This is not a question of whether or not you are ready to write indigenous literature, but whether you are willing to do so. Whatever your decision, continue to be kind to indigenous writers. Do not ask us why we are not famous or complain about why we are not getting support for our work. There can only be one answer to that: people are too busy to care. At least you care, and that should be enough to keep my culture alive.
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