Editor’s Note: A Triple Sonnet in Prose
I
I write about food, sex, and fantasies.
My poetry is immediacy: we all have
our thing, the little tease that gets us going.
That sounds sensual. That’s the point, because
when writing’s great, it’s orgasmic, like sneaking
off with a lover to the corner booth of a bar
in [Insert your favorite city here, let the mind
run wild—I’d choose Tokyo. Or Las Vegas,
because I can be tacky], and writing can feel
like dancing with five people at once, or grinding
until your top comes off—or eating sashimi off
a lover’s body. What I’m trying to say is it’s all
about release—or as Lyrae says, the sonnet
is a box of tension and release—write to get out.
II
In the above, I’m only speaking for myself
and my own writing, but I might as well share
my motivations. And these motivations
of writing may or may not intersect with
motivations of reading—let’s be clear.
In curating, there’s a million directions one
can go, or as Mary Ruefle implies, the greatest
element of poetry is surprise. See what I did?
I ended up rhyming. It was internal.
But I still wasn’t supposed to do that.
Surprise. Curating this set of 23 authors
is one of the things that’s brought me joy
during this time. Or it’s like one of those
Youtube unboxing videos: What’s next? What’s next?
III.
Dear Reader, I want you to feel surprise,
not Surprise!, as in Happy Birthday!
but Surprise! as in the multiple voltas
of a damn good poem that make you
yearn for more, go in a round, back to
the beginning of the piece. And my dear
friend and poet I love, Nabila Lovelace
says my triple sonnet is like Tonya Harding’s
triple axel, and I cry for you, Tonya. I cry.
We all have our thing. And Dear Reader,
I want you to spot the surprise in each of
these 23. Dear Drew, Dear Richard, thanks
for giving me this August space to curate.
Dear Reader, it’s time to play hopscotch.