Walk the Vanished Earth

by Erin Swan

a specific name. Look at this one, Uncle

“Nothing easy about a son,”

“This life is shit, Paul. The least we can do is create some measure of beauty.”

Miscarry is a funny word, Penelope thinks. To be unable to carry. Or to do it wrong. As though forming a human with the meat of one’s body is merely a matter of carrying.

Don’t think of the future. We own the moment we’re in. Nothing more.