Written by Callan Latham
Art by necati


The pelican’s feather floats to you
and you send it back, amethyst under wings,
muttering of the next thing’s birth.

We are in a time of starlight, everything dancing on
its head. I sit in my car in the grocery store parking lot,
thinking it would be nice to breathe again.

All we have holding us together is the promise
of something inching closer. When it gets here,
we might not know it until it leaves.