What a joy it is to announce the first cohort of the Winter Tangerine Fellowship!

Our 2018 fellows are Siaara Freeman, Lyrik Courtney, Golden, kiki nicole, & Yujane Chen!

These writers marvel and shimmer. Their writing is bold and luminous, and the urgency and insight of their work undeniably moved us. We were deeply impressed with the dedication and concept they applied to their creative and editorial practices and are thrilled for the opportunity to work with them so closely this year.

Click here for more info on our fellows & excerpts from their work.

& after you wake
you will be different: a god made soft
enough to never hurt you again
held you this close to the world: a myth told
at the end of autumn when your body was
naked with the lights off & all
you could remember was the voice
of someone you forgot—someone
you loved—

from TESTAMENT #90, Michael Wasson

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Perséfone’s fingers are thin and long, like La Calle Septima, one of the main streets in Bogotá, Colombia, where her family is originally from. She used to play the cello. I saw it one night soon after we began hanging out—body buried in a black bag—tossed in a back ditch of her bedroom, a thin stream of dust coating the shell. That night, I didn't ask about it. If I had, she might have shut down and uploaded herself into the dust of satellites, unreturned texts and trails of indecipherable emojis.

I always thought that a cello looks like a swan: a long slender neck curving into rounded hips. Perséfone, a girl with the gravest of expressions, could be either the cello buried in her bedroom, resplendent but untouched, an instrument with no voice; or the swan sailing across the water, alone and determined.

— from Perséphone in the Summer, Mónica Teresa Ortiz