Picture a ball of yarn, tumbling down a set of stairs and unwinding over each step. This compact, delightful shape is being unwound by the force of gravity. In its state of simultaneous unwinding, the supposed destruction relaxes and stretches its tendrils. See, now the rogue string in repose. We can sample every sumptuous stitch with the tips of our fingers, drink it with our senses, when the yarn guts are extended. Why is this yarn violence beautiful? That’s life, baby. We find art in the motion of destruction.

This issue is my first since joining The Citron Review as Assistant Editor. I’m a Las Vegas-based poet. When I’m not writing I love to drink coffee, ask you for photos of your pets (especially cats), and try to embody silliness once in a while—because life is too short.

As writers each of us undergoes our own unraveling. Through writing, we tackle an identity crisis, the upending of a routine, the melodrama of putting it back together until there’s a sense of normalcy again. We travel between being awake and asleep, capturing the fantasy in both. To bring dreams into our world or reckoning with reality. We grieve loved ones, resurrect them from fond memories so we can cherish them more. We share in the relief of having finished the long journey of creating something, yet embarking on another, much longer one—the next project.

In this issue, our Flash picks unravel the many intersections of living. Alongside Andrew Bertaina we’ll seek something beyond the living while Lindy Biller makes us tasty and edible. Elissa Field leads us to explore whether our lifesaving instincts apply to all situations. Meg Pokrass takes us to Vegas to see if the living are the lucky ones. Then we’re on a harrowing journey into lifegiving with Tara Van de Mark or a dealing with life’s passing with Eric Scot Tryon.

This issue might answer these questions, and also has a lot of delicious, juicy fruit—Peel it open, sample the sweet inside.

Sincerely,

Liz Galvez
Assistant Editor
The Citron Review