As we prepare to re-enter the world—cautiously, exuberantly—we find ourselves contending with dangerously full internal backlogs. What forms do all those things, culminating inside of us, take? There is no single answer; eruption is a transitional state.
Issue 4 has found its form through our writers, poets, and artists, who question and examine what it means to be a human in today’s world. Are we brand new people? Have we calcified our bad habits, or buried ourselves more deeply in our toxic relationships? Have we been thrust into a new phase of existence that forces us to re-examine how we’ve chosen to live until now? Do we want to devour everything in our path, even those we love most?
With this issue, we hope to give space to those outbursts, and to celebrate the hope that conception can follow destruction.
The First Time I Hear Jane Speak
Jane carrying her tray of corned beef hash into the dining hall. Jane with two small glasses of milk. Jane sitting at the far end of the table next to Rosalind, Francis, Gerdie and Viola. Jane not saying a word.Read the story →
My mother’s iron was heavy, with a speckled cord and stubby plug. In the cellar, she and I pressed my father’s shirts. He worked a desk job he’d never dreamed of growing up in a South End tenement, working a machine in a nearby raincoat factory and letting it all proceed from there.Read the essay →
When Harry says hello, he means for now. He means let’s see how the evening goes. He means he might or might not have something else come up and he will have to leave.Read the story →
How awful, I say in tweet and reply. How terrible. Disgusting!
Enraging. Why? What a monster. How awful. My heart.
Round face, single tear emoji. What is even
happening? Who are we? I heart the postsRead the poem →
When My Girlfriend's Head Becomes an Orange in the Middle of the Night
I wonder who it’s for? I’ve always hated oranges. I used to watch my aunt peel them over her speckled brown ash tray, the Virginia Slims slowly buried in citrus.Read the story →
How to Build a Volcano
Pizza box. 20oz plastic bottle. Chicken wire. Newspaper. Flour. Water. Paint.
Box Cutter. Serrated knife. Wire Cutters. Gloves. Staple Gun. Super glue. Mixing bowl. Paint brushes. Measuring Cup.Read the essay →
The first time you fuck is on a Saturday night turned Sunday morning. After his face finally re-emerges from the back of your thighs, he asks, am I going to catch something from this?Read the story →
Interview with Victoria Chang
Q: In some of Dear Memory’s sections, there are quotations by other writers that your writing responds to. What’s your process for collecting these ideas or quotes?
A: Honestly, I am disorganized. Sometimes I'd just open random books around me and see something and it might spur something in my mind or I would slot it into the text I was working on.Read the interview →
The guest bedroom is the only room in our home my mom doesn’t cover with wallpaper when she marries. Assuming this door will almost always stay closed, she sees no need.Read the essay →
Behind the basement stairs was a box of swaddling blankets I know we tossed last summer. I threw them out.
I sit on them now cradling my foot like a broken child.Read the story →
Tanya Žilinskas | Editor-in-Chief
Megan Bounds | Production Editor
Matthew Hose | Nonfiction Editor
Nicholas Neyhouse | Poetry Editor
Jesse Herwitz | Fiction Editor
Anna Deh | Fiction Editor
Benjamin Briggs | Fiction Editor
KC Crawford | Assistant Nonfiction Editor
Jess Reincke | Assistant Nonfiction Editor
T.S. Leonard | Assistant Poetry Editor
Hikari Miya | Assistant Poetry Editor
Neal Andreu Tayco | Assistant Poetry Editor
Sarah Kruse | Assistant Poetry Editor
Gretchen Lehtonen Hopkins | Assistant Fiction Editor
Readers: Helen Fahnestock, Lilia Farrell, Lisa Freese, Madi Giovina, Lu Huang, Robert Perea, Srishti Rathour, Bryce Sears, Saranya Subramanian, Siok-Hian Tay-Kelley, Grant Young, and Hantian Zhang