A LETTER FROM THE EDITOR

There’s an apricot tree in my front yard. It’s a bit past peak season, but you can still see some overripe ones — bruised and fallen along the edge of the sidewalk or limply languishing on a branch. I can see why the color is named after the fruit: that dusty yellow-orange that is exactly what it is.

Issue 7 is coming a little past peak season. But we’re here, and the air conditioning is on in the living room. We’re sitting on floor pillows around the low coffee table over sour cream pound cake or tarte tatin. Or, we’re on the perimeter of the party of Vinay Ghodgeri’s “Party Alien,” smoking a cigarette on the back deck, chasing after nightmares.

We’re picking apricots and the figs of Lin Flores’ “Nectar to Taste” amidst the waning, tapering of stone fruit season— in the space between.

The perennial of Kevin Scheepers’ “Requiem for the Lonely” is much like the work of this journal— unpredictable, at times, but returning full force when you need it.

We know little about the rhythms of the seasons, even with our almanacs. But they leave just as they come. And when they leave, as Scheepers writes:

“Nothing left to do, but close your eyes and hold hope’s spurious hand.”

With adoration,

KAC

August 2025