Marie Vibbert’s poetry has appeared in Asimov’s, Analog, F&SF, and in places where you’d never expect to find poetry, like street corners in Pittsburgh. By day she is a computer programmer in Cleveland, Ohio. Her debut novel, Galactic Hellcats, came out this year and is about a female biker gang in
👋 We’re back. If you have any reviews of the way the sky looks at 2am, interviews with previous mental health states, poems about organizing the bugs under your basement foundation, or essays about the politics of teeth–send them our way, friends. We’ve began accepting only 7 pieces per month.
[On Crafting A] Throne World “Opinor ergo sum” — — my pen singing in the same key as a birthday candle’s dulcet surrender a wailing mother, a cooling Glock, an emergency call to prayer, a kiss hello, a welcome home. Of all the realms hidden between your synapses,
The trees, shedding, drop an accumulation of colored leaves across the forest floor. The animals, passing, observe their falling and interpret them like tarot cards. Those leaves make the shape of a Pegasus about to take flight. The birds take solace in the image, knowing their journey will be
cresting white dunes, a long, hot trek—watchsidewinders slither across the ghostly bonesof a prehistoric sea taste the alkali, the bitterness of lost waters against your thick tongue; the mirage in the distance taunts you with your thirst when you close your eyes plesiosaurs swim nearby— pressure bands
First, it was wine and an assortment of cheeses. Then a walk through the park, the jasmine air slithering mildly between them. Later, on her porch, when a younger couple might have kissed in fleeting secrecy, she said, “Can I interest you in a tour of my museum?” Yes, he
The Seezali ship is visible ahead, darting in and out of asteroids as it approaches. Its crew apparently believes they are invisible but we Kalahamar can see through any cloaking device. The ship is twice the size of ours, but this won’t matter once we employ the Contraction. The thing
It was like this: she was there until she wasn’t In the time it takes for the sun to dip below the ground She left everyone Towards new sights and new sounds New quiet like quiet she’d never known before New darkness like the darkness behind your eyelids can’t hold
I hold your image in between my thumb and forefinger. The white has faded and has begun to yellow. The black-inked you captivate my imagination. A moment is captured, unaware, and lost in thought on a bustling Ohio street. Tall man. Smart suit. Porkpie hat. A tie fluttering a second
No-longer-living things are everywhere in this house. They shouldn’t be shocked by this. Not really. Not if they thought about it. No-longer-living things sit in their sinks too, and hide in their medicine cabinets, parade on countertops, loiter in corners of garages, and drape apathetically over chairs. Capitalist clutter fills
