I could see people around me, laughing, pouring water on each other. I wanted to act like them. But I couldn’t. What was the difference between us? Between me and the others -many of whom were younger than me - who were twisting like fish in the water.

Naoki stood there saying nothing, and I sat there doing the same. I looked down at the receipt, feeling a melancholic pang in my chest that I subsequently understood to be heartburn. My last Great 28” had been eaten, though I had no reason to suspect such a farewell would be taking place when I woke up that morning.

Let us reach into the depths of our relationship with this small planet and at the very least show that we cared enough to write about her over and over and over again.

For this first Issue of Volume 15, our Editors and their readers have curated a trio of literary works that illuminate the emotions we pin to the inanimate and the mundane, all while offering some insight as to how we can move forward in the world today.

Maybe the House Sparrow should form a support group for Birds Who Don’t Matter. Invite the pigeons, starlings, those seagulls that hang around grocery store parking lots. They’d invite the Canada goose, but he’s always too busy and secretly they’re all relieved because, come on, it’s a Canada Goose.

dog sniff-sniffing in the rust-worn goldenrod

alert to acorn drop and chickadee.

The last car-filled donation drop at the Goodwill had been only five days earlier. Had Barry been a part of that drop? She couldn’t remember. At that moment, standing in front of the clown, that old friend, that old foe, it felt like a fresh wound, though she could have sworn it had already scabbed over.

It’s a heavy burden, but one we can’t seem to shake, to dip into that moonlit pond by the cavern, and resurface with a living poem—the messy made heard and seen.