Size / / /

As it happened, the star she wished on burned

to a cinder crisp before Earth's first

sunset simmered into mist

& shrouded waters still uncursed

by much past microbes. When it flared

its warning pang & cauterized

the sufferings of neighbor worlds,

nothing for parsecs had the eyes

or mind to notice. Seeping out

across oblivious space, its light

seemed little different than before,

held no suggestion of the plight

that alien billions—briefly—faced

on some night magical as this,

as soft with all the scents of spring.

Now, focused only on the kiss

she hopes her lucky star will grant,

she shuts her eyes & lifts her head

beneath this spangled canopy

of pyres to the distant dead.




Ann K. Schwader lives, writes, and volunteers at her local branch library in Westminster, CO. Her most recent poetry collection is Twisted in Dream (Hippocampus Press 2011). Her dark SF poetry collection Wild Hunt of the Stars (Sam's Dot Publishing, 2010) was a Bram Stoker Award nominee. She is a member of SFWA, HWA, and SFPA. Her LiveJournal is Yaddith Times.
Current Issue
16 Feb 2026

Water is life here, and it's evident in that if you stray too far off the beaten path and away from water, you will get lost and you’ll be lucky if anyone sees you again before sundown. My village is settled neatly between two gentle rolling mesas and along a thin river in a sparsely populated community lovingly called ‘the valley’.
In the beginning, the ocean was lonely / and so she created a fifteen-year-old girl / (or was it the other way around?)
It’s me not you, and the / Hole in the sky still weeps sticky tears.
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