“I’m used to it now, the waiting.

An incomplete, unhurried emergence of understanding,

sitting with questions that are sometimes never answered.”

– Charlotte Wood -Stone Yard Devotional

Dear Reader,

                     

It’s astonishing to realize that it's been just over a year since we, the editors of Tethered Literary, began this literary journal journey. The world feels and looks a whole lot different; and yet, in some ways the world is exactly where it wills to be and I am relieved that words continue to be written by humans.

            

As I placed the works of the contributors into the digital layout of this Winter issue, the pesky AI assistant popped up in the corner of my screen, eager to save time and summarize this issue of Tethered Literary which is “an exploration of identity, memory, grief and cultural heritage.” How helpful! My favorite topics to lose myself in, and yet seeing all the rich, profound work diminished into a few words felt empty, and frankly a little insulting. I did not want to save time, I wanted to sit with the work, to feel its weight, its light, its movement.

            

It is in the quiet poem, the small hardy dandelion that sprouts wherever it feels like Bridge, how we greet the day (Edwards), the excited Go of a paint stroke(Mastras), how the air smells of worms (McDonald); all the wonderfully various ways we remember our origins, whether through kimchi(Shin), or sorghum (Garde), or persimmons(Dyer); and it is in the definitive sentence demanding attention: the world is on fire.(McQueen)

            

Read enough of these words and you feel embraced by joy, nudged by the memories of others, perhaps even feel the relief found in resignation. Whether poetry or prose or an oil pastel, ink painting, it matters not the medium, only that a human has expressed themselves or shared their experience, because that is ultimately all we have. As readers we bear witness to the telling and each piece leaves space for us to reflect, room to decide how we belong or connect, to ponder how we are alike and how we are different.

            

Maybe it was the late hour spent pouring over the layout, and maybe it was the deep feeling of gratitude I felt being part of something so personally enriching, but all I could think was how lucky am I that I have been trusted with these words, these works.

I hope that reading these pieces will give you pause and feed you in unexpected ways.

      

                                                                                                     

Warmly,

Imke Wernicke Berger