Welcome to the sixteenth issue of Waccamaw.
The sixteenth issue of Waccamaw sat us up out of the buzz of the late night slush pile sweating and with fists in the air. We could not look away.
In private we called this the “bearloom” issue. Because it rhymes with “heirloom” and there really are tomatoes. But here what looms beyond spring’s hyper colored blooms and poisons is sometimes large and toothed.
In private we called this issue “flippy.” Because the best is the worst and the worst is the best when it’s told raw. Because of the liminal tangerine of go and the blue behind the streetlights’ halo. Because sometimes a bird is a drone and a dress is a war and water inverts its peaks.
In private this issue refused sharp hard lines. It wanted to confess: I am soft. Sometimes I am soft. Poet-y, even. A willowy curve. But only sometimes. Sometimes I spit venom, catch a bear, rip everything off and go naked. Save my own life.
We do have a few things to confess. First and foremost that we want to invite you in. Urgently. Here. Sit down. Drink this. Heat up. Cool off. Keep your eyes open.
Welcome to the Bearloom Issue. Happy spring.