Issue 159
Winter & Spring 2021
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The first days of the new year have proven what a naïve oversimplification it was to brand 2020 a bad year. The pandemic rages on, climate crisis still looms, and the continuum of destruction in the United States—one that has existed for centuries—erupted into a violent fascist insurrection. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that at times over the past months putting together a new issue of a literary magazine has felt fruitless and insignificant. I’d also be lying if I didn’t admit it was at times the only work that held me off from complete despair.
As I grow older, my understanding of the political nature and call to action of literature has evolved. I am perhaps less convinced that a singular piece of art can change the world, but also more committed to the belief that if we continue to fight for more equity and inclusivity in American letters, if we strive for systemic changes in academia, creative writing communities, and the publishing industry at large, the arts can have more powerful economic, cultural, and political consequences.
I know these changes can’t happen overnight; nor can they be realized without a coalition of writers, editors, and publishers dedicated to them. As my tenure as managing editor nears its close, I have thought much about TriQuarterly’s future and its role in this effort. My goal is that the journal will continue to grow through critical thinking around our editorial, hiring, and production practices. I am confident in and grateful for the team of editors who will carry TriQuarterly forward after I am gone.
I hope you enjoy the video, poetry, and prose selections in this issue. I hope they collectively offer solace and examination, endurance and outrage, as we push forward into 2021.
Sincerely,
Aram Mrjoian
Managing Editor
Managing Editor: Aram Mrjoian
Assistant Managing Editor: Joshua Bohnsack
Faculty Advisor: Susan Harris
Director of Planning: Reginald Gibbons
Film Editor: Sarah Minor
Fiction Editors: Vanessa Chan, Jennifer Companik, Erin Branning Keogh, Kayla Kumari Upadhyaya, Emily Mirengoff
Nonfiction Editor: Starr Davis
Poetry Editor: Daniel Fliegel
Social Media Editor: Joshua Bohnsack
Copy Editor: Lys Ann Weiss
Media Architect: Harlan Wallach
Technical Advisors: Alex Miner, Rodolfo Vieira, Nick GertonsonStaff: Adam Lizakowski, Andrea Garcia, Audrey Fierberg, Bonnie Etherington, Dane Hamann, Elijah Patten, Ellen Hainen, Erica Hughes, Erika Carey, Freda Love Smith, Grace Musante, Hillary Pelan, Jonathan Jones, Laura Humble, Laura Joyce-Hubbard, Marcella Mencotti, Megan Sullivan, Michele Popadich, Miranda Garbaciak, ML Chan, Myra Thompson, Natalie Rose Richardson, Nimra Chohan, Pascale Bishop, Patrick Bernhard, Rishee Batra, Salwa Halloway, Tara Stringfellow
Image from A Turn
Poem Without Bodies
I want to make the body into sky.
– Anish Kapoor, on his sculpture Marsyas (2002), Turbine Hall, Tate Modern
Medusa in the Emergency Room
On the fifth day of pills, the limestone
stole my eyes. Beneath its scraggle and rasp
my sight burned senseless. No surprise–
What the Suitcase Bearing my Family Name Might Have Contained When It Arrived at Auschwitz
Wool socks. Diapers. Mittens. Hats. Dresses. The fear of God. Dark rye flour. Clogs made from scraps of lumber and leather. The Torah in Hebrew and Russian. One good wool suit. A child’s necktie.
Ghazal Written for the Lids in Downtown Brooklyn Where I Chose my Name
I grew up poor, no monogrammed bath towels or duffle bags, nowhere to travel but into myself.
My mountain had so many small mountains inside of it, and I had breasts. If I had to give myself
New year poem
Tottenham Hale
If I were to start
again, I’d start
at the end of the long,
unbending street.
After returning to King’s College Chapel
The night-locked dusk clicked shut.
The cool air rose like a stone.
At last, my voices echoed through the high,
miraculous chamber. And the iconography
Against Death
After my best friend died I became jealous of the fireflies and kept smashing them against my forehead. I wanted my loneliness to be visible to those I loved. For people to see the yellow balloons I hid in my lungs.
in north carolina there is a kind of wild onion called a ramp.
google tells me they are hyper-seasonal, highly coveted. my yard tells me they are hyper-attainable, highly abundant. on a
winding drive up a rocky road to the mountains, my lover tells me ramps are ramps. got it. i grew up
Introduction to Video Essays
In this video suite we present a series of slightly longer works than we normally feature. Each of these three videos considers the role of delay in moving-image work, and in some way allows an ambitious visual medium to direct its own pauses.
Endangered Species
It is St. Patrick’s Day, 1989, and I am fifteen years old. On that Friday evening, Demetris, a friend from school, is at a party. I am known as a social butterfly because I am outgoing and funny, and make people feel comfortable without being terrible.