Women :: Non-binary :: Art :: Fiction :: Poetry
November / December 2022
Editor's Note
Dear Reader,
It's taken me decades to learn that when my fears are in the spin cycle, it's time to slow down, take deep breaths, focus on my sneakers planted firmly on the mysteriously sticky hardwood floor, the fact that I still have breath, toast and jam, a roof with no leaks, knees that bend. Right now, though, my spin cycle is so crammed with fears I can smell smoke and hear the machinery grind. It may implode. I may implode.
Here's a smattering of my recent worries: Am I witnessing the collapse of the U.S. democracy? Does my yellow lab's post-walk limp mean he has cancer? Will I lose or have to abandon my beloved Twitter community? Will all the people I love die of Covid-related heart failure? How will this democracy survive capitalism / this election? What if all my friends get Botox and I'm the only one left who has wrinkles? Am I responsible for the collapse of this democracy if I opt out of Stacey Abrams' dozen daily text messages?
Just kidding about that last one! I love you, Ms. Abrams!
I also learned not-so-long-ago not to let fear guide my decisions, and it's a good thing because if fear were in charge right now, I'd be curled up under my blankies all day every day. Instead, here I am loving my people, my dogs, my wrinkles, my deeply flawed country—while there's time—and building community with West Trestle Review.
Here we are.
Before I rave about this fantastic new issue, I want to share, in case you hadn't heard, that WTR's poetry editor, Joan Kwon Glass, has taken over as EIC of Harbor Review. We are so happy for her! Unfortunately, Joan's new role is taking her away from WTR, so we are also sad to see her go. We are grateful for the laughter, talent and vision Joan brought to WTR; her energy truly helped West Trestle shine, and that sparkle will last. Harbor Review is very lucky to have her, and we can't wait to see every good thing she does.
Our fiction editor, Olivia Joyce, is also stepping back from WTR to focus on new pursuits. We will definitely miss the joy and Gen Z vibe Olivia brought to the journal, but she hasn't gone far—and who knows? Perhaps this mother-daughter editorial team will ride again one day! We have paused most fiction submissions until we are caught up.
In happier news, we are beyond thrilled that Diana Marie Delgado's poem, "Separate but Umbilical Situations Relating to My Father,"—originally published in West Trestle Review—was published in The Best American Poetry 2022. Congratulations to Diana!
Without further ado: WTR's new issue is brimming with the past, with the future, with snow, Scottie dogs, and limes. It also features Cinderella, Brontë, aloo gobi, and beets. The artwork in this issue includes oil paintings (and one watercolor) by Brazilian artist T. Aguilera, paired with poetry and fiction by Jen Yáñez-Alaniz, V. A. Bettencourt, Emma Conally-Barklem, Mary Fitzpatrick, Jeannine Hall Gailey, Ruth Hoberman, Sarah M. Jasat, Letitia Jiju, Issa Lewis, Christy Prahl, Daniela Paraguya Sow, Sakina Qazi, Claire Scott, Dara-Lyn Shrager, and Meghan Sterling. The Fairlies feature for this issue, "Impressionism #1" by Ellen June Wright, crisply captures one fleeting moment in time.
We are delighted that West Trestlers and friends Mónica Gomery and Rage Hezekiah have each written Cross-Ties of each other's newly released books, respectively Might Kindred and Yearn. Their thoughtful reviews remind me of Ram Dass's famous quote, "We're all just walking each other home."
Read them in the Cross-Ties section.
Remember, if you admire the work you find here, please give our contributors a shout on whichever social media platform you prefer (or land upon). As ever, we issue a general content warning for the work that appears in WTR. Feel free to use content warnings when sharing.
As Annie Stenzel and I were pulling together the last threads of this issue, I re-read these lines from Meghan Sterling's poem, "Stone Fields with First Snow," and they seem like perfect words for right now:
We could live here, I thought. This broken earth.
This land of hard hard rock. We could plant and make things soft
or come to ruin, right here.
Patricia Caspers
Founding EIC, West Trestle Review
(PS. If you're in the US, don't forget to vote!)
It's taken me decades to learn that when my fears are in the spin cycle, it's time to slow down, take deep breaths, focus on my sneakers planted firmly on the mysteriously sticky hardwood floor, the fact that I still have breath, toast and jam, a roof with no leaks, knees that bend. Right now, though, my spin cycle is so crammed with fears I can smell smoke and hear the machinery grind. It may implode. I may implode.
Here's a smattering of my recent worries: Am I witnessing the collapse of the U.S. democracy? Does my yellow lab's post-walk limp mean he has cancer? Will I lose or have to abandon my beloved Twitter community? Will all the people I love die of Covid-related heart failure? How will this democracy survive capitalism / this election? What if all my friends get Botox and I'm the only one left who has wrinkles? Am I responsible for the collapse of this democracy if I opt out of Stacey Abrams' dozen daily text messages?
Just kidding about that last one! I love you, Ms. Abrams!
I also learned not-so-long-ago not to let fear guide my decisions, and it's a good thing because if fear were in charge right now, I'd be curled up under my blankies all day every day. Instead, here I am loving my people, my dogs, my wrinkles, my deeply flawed country—while there's time—and building community with West Trestle Review.
Here we are.
Before I rave about this fantastic new issue, I want to share, in case you hadn't heard, that WTR's poetry editor, Joan Kwon Glass, has taken over as EIC of Harbor Review. We are so happy for her! Unfortunately, Joan's new role is taking her away from WTR, so we are also sad to see her go. We are grateful for the laughter, talent and vision Joan brought to WTR; her energy truly helped West Trestle shine, and that sparkle will last. Harbor Review is very lucky to have her, and we can't wait to see every good thing she does.
Our fiction editor, Olivia Joyce, is also stepping back from WTR to focus on new pursuits. We will definitely miss the joy and Gen Z vibe Olivia brought to the journal, but she hasn't gone far—and who knows? Perhaps this mother-daughter editorial team will ride again one day! We have paused most fiction submissions until we are caught up.
In happier news, we are beyond thrilled that Diana Marie Delgado's poem, "Separate but Umbilical Situations Relating to My Father,"—originally published in West Trestle Review—was published in The Best American Poetry 2022. Congratulations to Diana!
Without further ado: WTR's new issue is brimming with the past, with the future, with snow, Scottie dogs, and limes. It also features Cinderella, Brontë, aloo gobi, and beets. The artwork in this issue includes oil paintings (and one watercolor) by Brazilian artist T. Aguilera, paired with poetry and fiction by Jen Yáñez-Alaniz, V. A. Bettencourt, Emma Conally-Barklem, Mary Fitzpatrick, Jeannine Hall Gailey, Ruth Hoberman, Sarah M. Jasat, Letitia Jiju, Issa Lewis, Christy Prahl, Daniela Paraguya Sow, Sakina Qazi, Claire Scott, Dara-Lyn Shrager, and Meghan Sterling. The Fairlies feature for this issue, "Impressionism #1" by Ellen June Wright, crisply captures one fleeting moment in time.
We are delighted that West Trestlers and friends Mónica Gomery and Rage Hezekiah have each written Cross-Ties of each other's newly released books, respectively Might Kindred and Yearn. Their thoughtful reviews remind me of Ram Dass's famous quote, "We're all just walking each other home."
Read them in the Cross-Ties section.
Remember, if you admire the work you find here, please give our contributors a shout on whichever social media platform you prefer (or land upon). As ever, we issue a general content warning for the work that appears in WTR. Feel free to use content warnings when sharing.
As Annie Stenzel and I were pulling together the last threads of this issue, I re-read these lines from Meghan Sterling's poem, "Stone Fields with First Snow," and they seem like perfect words for right now:
We could live here, I thought. This broken earth.
This land of hard hard rock. We could plant and make things soft
or come to ruin, right here.
Patricia Caspers
Founding EIC, West Trestle Review
(PS. If you're in the US, don't forget to vote!)