Whether this is your first time here at Expanded Field or you’re back again for our newest issue — welcome! When sitting down to write this editorial I struggled to find a way to contextualise the issue without dwelling on the, seemingly never-ending, limbo we continue to inhabit.

There are patches of silver scales on Maaike’s skin and grains of sand in her auburn hair. She pulls down the sleeves of her sweater to hide the scales, and shakes out the sand from her curls, the golden specks shimmering as they fall to the floor.  

can I be 

                   soft 

like the rain, 

clinging to the grass;

needles, pins, scissors

she gathers the outgrown, the too often mended

cuts apart the once whole

searches out greens, lavenders of distance

I believe in reincarnation.

What would you come back as?

A lion, I think.

I'd come back as, like, a sweet guitar riff.

—Overheard on a Toronto Subway

If you’re a house fire

Can I be your arson heart?

            Blue was my favorite color

            Before I saw the scarlet flames—

            Now ash black is a sign of love.

How do we venture into the lives of others

and still remain true to ourselves?

We demarcate relationships

between teachers and students while learning,

“You wanted to see the Sky Garden, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but—of all days, why today? It’s super dry!” Clarissa walked beside her father hand-in-hand down Fenchurch Street toward London’s towering building that housed the supposed garden.

Chorus

Oh tulip tornado

Your kisses grenade-o

You’re like a volcano

My tulip tornado

Once upon a time there was a castle.

Glorious and majestic.

It filled its rooms steadily with princesses

who would never consider themselves lonely,

for they were waiting for love.

Iris longs to be with others who resist State laws; others who risk punishment to express themselves however they choose; others who believe that what a person dreams is more important than exams devised to test how little one knows about history.

As Moloch’s arms in ancient days

The thrashing, crying babes embraced

So, the world consumes the children’s children

Who have forgotten Moloch’s sainted name

What good is a feather without a wing? What use a wing without a wind to lift it? How I make the effortless an effort in this war with myself.