My mother called the doctor the very day the house fell ill.
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."