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ISSUE 11: CONTRIBUTORS
Adele Gardner, Avra Margariti, David A. Hewitt, D.A. Xiaolin Spires, Elaine Vilar Madruga, M. Bennardo, Mary Soon Lee, Phoebe Low, Qurat Dar, Timothy Bastek, Toshiya Kamei, Uma Menon & Wren Wallis. Cover art by Edward Hicks (1848).
“Tesslin VanGlaise stands accused of assaulting a rider,” the inquisitor continued, while she could feel his eyes drinking in the sight of her, “and of practising magic for some years prior to doing so.”
In the dream, you told me / the raven’s secrets, the names / by which crows call themselves, / the secret powers of jays.
Lavie Tidhar’s ‘guns and sorcery’ novella Gorel and the Pot Bellied God is a highly entertaining and exotic piece of genre fiction.
this is a blank spot / on a map of blank spots / labeled, “here there be”
On the TV, you want to watch those
Richard Linklater movies, our answer to sex…
She and I are alive, along with half the city’s sorcerers. The enemy fleet has entirely vanished, together with every male sorcerer in Flowers and Summer. The day is ours, but at what cost?
The koala was not always an endangered species. Their fingerprints are so indistinguishable from humans that they were, on occasion, confused at a crime scene.
For me, the grim realities of flight did not negate The Little Prince— / instead, I became more certain / that everything Saint-Exupéry said was true: / that same sincere voice, that never-lost child’s wonder / at being alive.
Our loft starship, tear-shaped pod of night, / Glows inward with familial joy, / A hearth of laughter, warm, bright— / Hearts leap across deep space…
Do not ask who did this to her, / who shattered her to her core. // Do not ask what she remembers / of the larger self she’s lost.
Forget he held me in his arms / before our burnt bones shared an urn. // Forget the past and let us rest. / Step up. Bow. Take your own turn.
Life / goes on. // The cats still demand their food, / the garbage trucks still rumble by, / your throat still craves cold liquids.
Who needs a mirror with eyes / like that—eyes that make you trust / your own bones, that know your form / is beautiful because it can dance.
Here in the old / Enchantments / you can find remnants / of her still, / her smile a ragged / and torn tarn shore, / her perfume / the come-gone scent / of slapdash rain.
Singh’s stories in this collection present a new way of articulating planetarity and narrating the cosmos and map out a new terrain of science fictionality. She incorporates the fantastic, the magical and the wondrous to create a mythopoetic engagement with the cosmos.