We Are the Bees
by Andrew Kozma
Harris walked into the tent, his sun-burned face wrinkled into a permanent, unconscious frown.
“There aren’t enough bees.”
What You Lost in the Wildermere
by R. J. Howell
Things vanish in the Wildermere. The usual, expected things—livestock, the occasional person—but also the less conventional.
The less tangible.
Bank of Emergency
by Na Zhong
Every day I carry a shoeful of sand to my square office where, / stumbling from edge to edge, I bruise like a baby and / age like one.
Dear Monster Huntress
by Avra Margariti
I know you come around here often, / so why don’t you measure the salt of my tears?
Elegy from the Blue
with a Line Borrowed from Ojo Taiye
by Wale Ayinla
what will you sing if hunger abides in your blood? / ash pours back into the waters, this is the beginning / of grief.
by Tamara Jerée
during the three-year rain / Saturn birthed / a beautiful new ring that some dubbed the greatest / mishandling of galactic expectation