My belly is an island My breasts a pair of dunes Rising above a sea of Blankets The landscape of my body Has been changed Not by your hands But because of them Forgive me I used to find beauty Only In an unbroken horizon
So this is a thing writers do, I hear: post a list of works eligible for the next round of science fiction and fantasy awards (Nebulas, Hugos, Locus Awards, the World Fantasy Awards, etc). Turns out, I wrote a few things this year that I'm particularly excited about. I love all of these stories for … Continue reading 2019 Award Eligibility
Somewhere amongst the detritus of my younger days—the moldering books, the broken music-box, the worn-out dancing shoes—is a letter that contains your signature and a broken promise. Our entire history could be read in its creases and ragged edges, if I cared to find it.
The Perseids dart overhead, a school of fish in a boundless dark sea. I count them for you, trace a path along a river of stars. Trace, also, the pale curve of your shoulder. "What did you wish for?" I ask. Your eyes are bright. "An eternity of this."
“I will go, if you ask it.” The lantern is turned down low. Its dim light pools on the table, glints off the brandy glass dangling from your fingers. I wish I could see your face. “No.” Your voice drifts out of the shadows, gentle as rain. “Stay.”