From the Editors
All the scars on my body, all the bumps and bruises, all the muscles – that is a story of everything I have done. —Rose Namajunas
The story of everything we have done is contained, yes, in our bodies. In our work, too; sliced or pruned or distilled as necessary to power the engine of a given piece. “No takebacks” in this life, says Karly Vance in “Supplication,” where we are all the playthings of “helpless, hapless gods.” No takebacks, so let’s get it right, at least the work. In “Your Ancestors I Found Online,” Laurinda Lind provides running, sardonic commentary on notes from a family tree—poor William, 1624, that’s all I’m saying. So everything we have done is contained in our bodies and in our work… and maybe everything our forebears have done, too? In “Some Chance for Precipitation” DB Jonas tells us “We are falling.” Some days we agree; we are all falling, and we wonder if the parachutes will save us. Most days we feel the ground under our feet and we’re grateful for these fragile, scarred bodies, and aging muscles. For everything we’ve done and made.
—Claire, Suzanne, Cheryl
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