If spring is the time of change, summer is the season where we survey what that change has precipitated. This summer, I started a new job. I used to teach middle grades English, and now I run the testing center at a community college. The work is quieter, but so far it has been equally rewarding—which is no surprise to me since my concern is still the success of students.

Of course, I’m also feeling the ubiquitous effects of summer. Here in North Carolina, the humidity is as bad as the heat. I know, things could be worse, but I can’t help but pine for a time when the actual pines weren’t choked under a blanket of air dense as fog but somehow still perfectly clear. The only word I can think of is insalubrious—a strange word, uncommon, for degrees of weather that used to be uncommon here. Regardless, I hope this summer has been an opportunity for Citron’s submitters and readers alike to reflect on the new things the change of seasons have brought, both the pleasant and insalubrious; and for those who recall my notes for the Spring 2023 issue, I hope you have found some wind for your sails.

“Ethyl Formate” by David Prather  was the first poem I read out of the five in this issue, and I wanted it immediately. From the title to the epigraph, the balance between mundane and cosmic, and scientific to nostalgic, this poem asked me first to think, but by the time I read the last line, it made me feel. Like “Ethyl Formate,” “Aubade” by Lisa Cheby uses food as a catalyst for exploration into things not so mundane, but this time, the ping of some unsung happiness runs deeper in the lines. Spare couplets stoke a fire both delicious and destructive.

In Julia Johnson’s “Incidental Capture When the Swarm of Cicadas Come from Underground” the sonics of each line draws our attention closer and closer. Notice the length of lines? Or how the punctuation encourages pauses for breath? Often we tell creative writing students to read aloud for revision, but then we forget to read aloud for our own pleasure. I ask everyone who reads this poem to try reading it aloud at least once. You will not regret it.

Levi Jessup
Poetry and Micros Reader
The Citron Review