Dear Reader,
Perhaps you know something of this. As part of my pandemic parenting requirements, I have been commissioned by my four-year old to tell stories. This child identifies who should be in the story—usually themself and their friends (both imaginary and not)—and once I have been presented with this extensive and wholly unmanageable cast, they sit attentively, perched beside me, waiting. I imagine if they were a Labrador Retriever, their ears would be perked and their tail would wag furiously.
But this kid’s a tough crowd. If I do not begin the tale with “once upon a time,” I am doing it wrong. If I forget one of the characters, I am doing it wrong. If I end the story too quickly, I’m doing it wrong. If there is any sort of conflict that’s not the one expected—you guessed it!—I am doing it wrong.
If I get things wrong too many times, my child will interrupt. “No, no, no,” they’ll lament. “This way,” they’ll instruct. What usually follows are charming, drawn out non-sequiturs punctuated with a self-satisfied “the end.” I thank them for the story, give them a hug, and send them on their way.
Yet, the other day brought something unexpected. Kiddo handed me a collection of doodled-upon scrap papers and, unprompted, declared it was a book. I asked them to read it to me. Together, we turned the pages, finding a clear and simple problem with resolution. My heart could burst.
Reader, I am convinced this is how it begins: with enthusiasm and exploration and ambition. With knowing what you want and staying focused long enough to follow through.
The works featured in this issue show us what happens with craft at its highest levels. Our poets are keen and sharp–both on the page and in their own voices. (Take a moment to listen!) Our flash essayists exhibit mastery in their concision. The Flash Essay Contest winner may leave you breathless. Likewise, the runners up leave an indelible mark. Our graphic nonfiction are some of the most raw and honest we’ve published. (For some levity, keep an eye out for the clever, tongue-in-cheek erasure poem series.) With all the ache captured by our contributors, there’s something more they have in common: endurance.
May this Sweet experience sustain and satiate you as we collectively shift and search for our new normal. May you find solidarity and strength in your reading. May it whet your appetite and inspire you.
The pandemic may not be over, but, reader, after all we’ve endured—we are all on the precipice of change. Perhaps you’ve chosen to pivot your career or pick up a new hobby. Maybe you are more focused on activism or are instituting a lifestyle change. If you’ve become completely burned out, choosing to rest and renew yourself is a valuable and necessary act.
We all are making adjustments given the past year—and Sweet is no exception. Look out for our upcoming Asian Solidarity Special Issue as well as exciting updates in store for our website. Rest assured that we remain committed to publishing the best and bravest poetry and essays—in all mediums.
Reader, thank you for spending time with us.
With affection and gratitude,
Leslie Salas
