Angela Liu -- Toba Catastrophe Theory

We toasted goodbye to the sun,
poured mnemonic wine
into empty skulls

and watched the bodies frost
in winter’s snow, how they curled
into clusters of viburnums in the spring.

74,000 years ago,
the ground split and released fire
it had run out of places to hide.

You too spilled
your magic in lava ropes,

tore open the hairy roots of ancient trees

and demanded an audience.

When the volcanic ash melts on our tongues 

you tell me to open my mouth wider
and think of summer fruit:

slices of bitter gourd and creamy jackfruit
blood and metal

it all tastes like summer fruit. 

The world isn’t over yet.

There are a million more ways we can 

still break it 

and will,

you’ve done the math.

I don’t question your prophecies anymore.

Instead,

when the unmoored whales fling themselves
onto black beaches, I think of their dried ribs

cracked open, the same color as your skin

how you can love a body

and never know the rot inside.

Angela Liu is a Chinese-American writer/poet who writes about intergenerational trauma and weird things. She is a two-time Nebula Award Finalist, a 2025 Astounding Award Finalist, and has also been nominated for the Hugo, Ignyte, and Rhysling Awards. She previously researched mixed reality storytelling at Keio University in Japan. Her stories and poems are published/forthcoming in Clarkesworld, Strange Horizons, Uncanny Magazine, Lightspeed, and Logic(s), among others. Check out more of her work at liu-angela.com or find her on Twitter/Instagram @liu_angela and on Bluesky @angelaliu.bsky.social