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๐—ฆ๐—ต๐—ถ๐—ฝ๐˜€๐—ต๐—ฎ๐—ฝ๐—ฒ

๐˜ฃ๐˜บ ๐˜’๐˜ช๐˜ฎ ๐˜ž๐˜ฉ๐˜บ๐˜ด๐˜ข๐˜ญ๐˜ญ-๐˜๐˜ข๐˜ฎ๐˜ฎ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฏ๐˜ฅ



As air seeps softly across the ship

dust follows, a spreading miasma


Jamie tinkers with the coolant system

humming along with it


I tend and talk to the plants

fear becoming soft boned


always we find things to do

endlessly make lists

all to fill the emptiness

long weeks of travel in nothing


trapped inside a thick shell

slow as a tortoise


so much time in the dark

we two our own island


days last forever

are over in an instant


there is nothing and

no one but us


here in the cold dead night

with only a fragile hull


and terrors out there that will

rub it away


we turn the radio onto static

to listen for them


become fascinated by the hissing

hear strange voices foaming around us


drift into a waking sleep

cannot awake





Kim Whysall-Hammond is a Londoner currently living somewhere in Southern England. Her speculative poetry has been published by Kaleidotrope, On Spec, Time and Space Magazine, Utopia Science, Andromeda Spaceways, The Future Fire, Star*Line, Fiction, Frozen Wavelets, Crannรณg, and others. She has two poems in the upcoming โ€˜Dead of Winterโ€™ anthology from Milk and Cake Press.


Speculative fiction & POETRY ZINE
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