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Particularly when working with a writer to edit their poem, and during the mountain of emailing and formatting that comes with this digital territory, I might read one poem a dozen times. Or maybe more times than I've read some of my favorite poems, or even my own poems. It feels better than ever to be developing these intimacies. To know that we are, at least here, working with something real. To have more than the bite-sized nullity of a feed. And, I am inspired by the flexibility and curiosity it takes to ask questions and make changes.

While I’m no expert on art, the Cubist painting above feels sharp, strong, cool, and considerate of the precise (and structurally interior) way we measure time. I see that fractured precision reflected in the informed intentionality that shapes these works. I like seeing that the angular through-line of the I (which in this issue appears a little less forthrightly than usual) can draw blood. 

In 2026, I am thinking about how community expands a worldview not just with comfort and mutually held opinions, but with the friction it takes to grow. In the solitary act of reading on these January evenings, I have found vicarious satisfaction in this collection of poems. In their respective assuredness, geographical abstractions, and unapologetic attention to multiplicity in identity. In the humor and gratitude, yes, but also in the contempt and cold fury. A few of these poems tell stories as if to reset a stage and, this time, control it. And that makes for a great read.

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Thank you to the readers on our staff, and thank you for reading our journal.

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