the sleeping are so hard to distinguish / from the dead

We'd only lived in Arizona four years—it was our retirement place. But I'd died there, and she'd dumped my ashes out in the desert without fanfare, without any poem or prayer, unless you considered, “Jesus, Marty, don't leave me. Why'd you leave me, you old bastard" to be an elegy.

Nature, desecrated, refused to yield more than bone

Strange Horizons is looking to add an additional social media editor and a Patreon editor to our editorial collective. These roles will entail working in tandem with our existing social media editor, Isana Skeete, our fundraising editor, Josh Kidd, and our management team.