Topic

nonhuman

A collection of 11 issues

#32. Gate, Attempting Something Else.

The gate has been trying to confess for weeks. First it claimed the motor was tired. Then the card reader had lost conviction. Then the central unit no longer recognised the hour. Each update arrived as a minor truth, delivered with the calm of one who believes the next sentence

Unphotographable Porto

She’s up early. Breath like stone dust. The streets are wet, always – from rain, from hosepipes, from the river breathing uphill. A crane grinds, coughs steel into the mist. Laundry strung like rosaries, a dog beneath blue tiles, a grandmother climbing cobbles with her shopping. Tiles crack. Paint flakes.

Orcas, Tuesday.

The orcas have formed a committee. The port authority says it's temporary. The whales disagree. They've established a perimeter, clockwise, with the efficiency of customs officials who've grown fond of their new regulations. Tuesday: they capsized the German yacht. Friday: reviewed the Swedes. Saturday:

Fugue for an Old Hunter in Scent Major

– Bach, for two noses, one constant presence. I. Doof: Opening Nose low. Step silent. The scent begins shallow – he slows. Left paw tests a patch of dry. There was a bird, not long. He turns before the wind does. Ribs tighten around the breath that hasn’t changed. Something worth

#22. Canine Anomalies, Filed.

The paperwork never matches. The names are always “wrong.” At the park, someone calls out: Rex? And I think, What a heavy thing to name a dog. Doof once ignored a priest. Sig grabbed a philosopher’s sleeve. They say I bit a nun at school. We’re not misbehaved.

#18. The Moon Resigned.

She said she was tired of supervising tides and poetry. Said every wolf's howl felt like a performance. Said lovers don’t write any more — they outsource. She left a note carved into the back of a mirror: “I was never a muse. You just needed a quiet

#10. The Hearing.

A hedgehog opened a custody hearing in a parking garage. No one objected. The filing was done in marmalade. Three witnesses arrived: a left shoe, a decoy duck, and a regret that had been composted improperly. The woman spoke only through interpretive coughing. The man arrived late, wearing a leash

#9. Including Pauses for Doubt.

A group of well-dressed ants opened a consultancy firm. They specialised in urgency management. Their motto: Everything is critical, unless it isn’t. They faxed invoices to flowers. Held meetings at the bottom of teacups. Charged by the minute – including pauses for existential doubt. On Holy Saturdays, they wore

#6. Motion: Enough.

A toaster applied for citizenship. It was denied, but thanked the ministry politely and swallowed a postcard. Somewhere near a fountain that only worked in reverse, a woman sewed buttons onto a cloud and mailed it to herself under a different name. The letter arrived on a Tuesday, but she

#3. Right, at Random.

At dawn, the wind forgot its direction. The sailboat chose one at random and was right. The desert crossed the sea wearing the sky’s shoes. The sailboat complimented them and sailed on. A wave offered a clock. The sailboat declined politely. The mast leaned too far to whisper to

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