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they came for me in springtime,
bound me in moss
circled around me so tightly
i couldn't breathe

they painted me green:
i began to photosynthesise

they said,
you'll grow to like it.
we cannot tell lies.
you will.

verdant crept up into my soul:
at the tips of my fingers white flowers bloomed
my hair turned to brambles
my skin to ashy bark

i wait.
imprisoned
coocooned

a small fairy, wandering through the glen, exclaims:
"oh look how sweetly blue that berry is!"
and reaches out to pluck my eye

i have no voice
nor stinging nettles

only the earth shudders through my roots.




Kit Hamada graduated from Wellesley College with a double major in Computer Science and English, and now writes code for a living. Her poetry and fiction have previously appeared in Liminality and 101 Fiction. She resides in Madison, WI with an assortment of hockey players and four-legged beasts.
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7 Apr 2025

It is no small thing to call forth life from the desert; do not imagine any but a witch could do it so well.
roaring engines now my battle hymn
To the timorous mouse / she is a mother’s nest
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Podcast read by: Emmie Christie
In this episode of the Strange Horizons Fiction podcast, Michael Ireland presents Lowry Poletti's BRIDE / BUTCHER / DOE read by Emmie Christie Subscribe to the Strange Horizons podcast: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Spotify⁠⁠
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