Size / / /

Content warning:


i stopped dreaming        of Neptune; a sky raining diamonds       collected into my hat

i mean, into the gloved hands of my mother’s surgeon   //

tonight, i’m suctioned       into a dreamscape      where the ghost of my father is a spaceship

pirate     on this plain      of light, gas & dust   //  from a sun dog, he rides       on

a UFO plastered with the stickers of soccer stars      from the future      ; all cyborgs

he asks about home       i tell him the hand of our clock is a dart      ; it strikes       twelve &

there is a windfall       of mangled bodies        on our streets        black boys

in a Venn diagram        with two circles in a rectangle indicating the relationship

between bullets & boys         he sighs          then, inverts an hourglass of stardust

to allow more time with me      //

from here, earth is an aquarium of dead fish         nanobots transmit his thoughts

in a wireless cloud         screens display a fond memory       of him spinning me around

remembrance is a letter burning       in reverse, he says         whetting a spearhead

on an asteroid        to hunt drones          sent from an alien observatory

i tell him my cousins say grace         over plates of bones      from necklaced bodies

i tell him it’s another kind of Ash Wednesday now     i tell him

much has changed         about him         so much         some villains decompose

into gods, he tells me       an average ghost is Einstein’s IQ       raised to the power

of all the nerves         in the human brain         his reflection blue on the surface of the Styx

like a litmus paper in alkaline        //

he pulls out a gold tooth        & instructs me to buy a casket or             pay the bride-price

of my dreams           he exiled

says i must hold my breath         as i embrace him            because, he stinks of regrets

 

he squeezes nanobots into my palms         i would wake up to find          as screws

i ask him if he misses home

& his body breaks into a thousand salmons

returning                to an eye        //



Martins Deep (he/him) is a poet of Urhobo heritage, a photographer, and a digital artist. He is a graduate of Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria. His works have been published or are forthcoming in Magma Poetry, Strange Horizons, Fiyah, Lolwe, 20:35 Africa, Augur Magazine, Tahoma Literary Review, and elsewhere. He says hi @martinsdeep1.
Current Issue
12 Jan 2026

Despite the barriers between different cetacean languages, our song crosses the vastness of the oceans, traveling in sync with the currents and even traversing great expanses of land. Our singing conveys the concept of “hope,” which is how we define the wait until our home feels safe again.
When you falter, recall that age is not your master
Do you swallow big blue whale eyes straight out of the jar?
When Le Guin talks about genre writers as “the realists of a larger reality” we surrender the power of that when we narrow our work to only depict one type of future. We have great power to restore alternate narratives, to re-broaden the range of imaginable futures.
Wednesday: We Will Rise Again edited by Karen Lord, Annalee Newitz, and Malka Older 
Friday: An Instruction in Shadow by Benedict Jacka 
Issue 5 Jan 2026
Strange Horizons
Issue 22 Dec 2025
Issue 15 Dec 2025
Strange Horizons
Issue 8 Dec 2025
Issue 1 Dec 2025
Issue 24 Nov 2025
Issue 17 Nov 2025
Issue 10 Nov 2025
By: B. Pladek
Podcast read by: Arden Fitzroy
Issue 3 Nov 2025
Issue 20 Oct 2025
By: miriam
Load More