Size / / /

Content warning:


Half moon in the pale blue sky
is half the moon it used to be.
Bobbing like this isn't like what it was
with the apples.
I suffer. We all suffer now
from seasickness.

I still can't believe we went there.
I still can't believe we went back to Dad's
after all that time. We're a long way from home now.
The moon, full, like Jeff Buckley sang,
as a plate, she is a long way from home. But here we are in Pennsylvania,
a land where no more miracles grow.
Whatever it means to be "in."

Forests are no longer cast here.
I feel a mounting pressure in my orbit.

There is a sign:
If you see anything defying reason, any spell unspun,
do like Nike said and just do it.
"Do" meaning "shoot."
If you see anything black,
do like Nixon said and just shoot it.
"Shoot" meaning "burn."

All resemblance to real folk,
be they ter- or mer-,
is completely unintended.

(Falsehoods, I learned, indicate truth one way or another.)

Because no one can tell,
the best place to cry is underwater.

The keystone state is turning into a mermaid.
Soon it will reside underwater.
One day all states will be
great places to cry.



Matt Alexander is a scientist and writer in Philadelphia. When struck by insight, he shouts “Bazinga!,” not “Eureka!,” although he has nothing against Archimedes and is in fact himself an avid bath-taker. His short stories and poems have been featured in Maudlin House, Flapperhouse, After the Pause, and others. You can follow him on Twitter at @thenamesmatta.
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
Wednesday: Overlap: The Lives of a Former Time Jumper by N. Joseph Glass 
Issue 11 Mar 2024
Issue 4 Mar 2024
Issue 26 Feb 2024
Issue 19 Feb 2024
Issue 12 Feb 2024
Issue 5 Feb 2024
Issue 29 Jan 2024
Issue 15 Jan 2024
Issue 8 Jan 2024
Issue 1 Jan 2024
Load More
%d bloggers like this: