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I met Julie LeMay in a poetry workshop at Antioch University in Los Angeles in 2011. Kind and caring, Julie was a true friend and a lovely part of my experience in grad school—in an environment so new and so scary, it was a blessing to have such a beautiful person to share the experience with, to set my soul at ease.

Julie and I graduated in 2013 and continued to maintain a friendship, even as I lived in Massachusetts and she lived in Alaska. Say what you will about social media, but it helped us stay in touch through the years, and I am grateful for it.

The last time I saw Julie was at AWP in Los Angeles in 2016. She was a bit tired, but we spent the day in the book fair together, chatting about life and literature.

In the three years after, we wrote often to each other, sending messages electronically as well as through the mail. She was always supportive about the choices I made in life, about my writing, and about my growing family. She was like a sister to me, a sister I never had before.

Julie passed away from ovarian cancer on March 30th, at home with her family. I will miss everything about her as a person: her happiness, her positivity, her writing, her friendship. She was an amazing person, and we are all better people for having her in our lives, if only for this glimpse of a moment.

Julie’s book, The Echo of Ice Letting Go, is available here. Donations in her name can be made to  your local library, or to

This issue is dedicated to her memory, to her life, and to her friendship.

Kolleen Carney-Hoepfner, Editor-in-chief


It had been an innocent idea, when this all had first started. An idea that was born previously to recognizing the world as Before and the world as After. Ah yes, that stupididea was an innocent one. The video game company had said our minds would be blown, that life would never be the same. Well, they were right. 

Once Upon a Time | The Patron Saint of Nothing in Particular | No Children | Emergency

These poems explore darker themes such as sexual assault, trauma, abuse (both emotional and physical), and the after-effects on ones’ mental health; but also explore what it means to heal, survive, and learn how to love and be loved in the wake of so much suffering.

I’m interested in bodies. I’m interested in the bad things that happen to bodies in safe spaces. I’m interested in coping methods, and the way the body fights to heal. I use physicality in my work as a means of illustrating experiences, specifically instances of trauma. Much of my work engages with bodies and how they move in and out of spaces whether substantial, like motel rooms, or sacred, like relationships. To quote Richard Siken, “Accidents never happen when the room is empty.” Whether or not the bodies want to connect, the story is inevitable. I have always embraced the term confessionalin regards to my work, despite the fact that the idea of confessional poetry still seems to be considered taboo. I value the confessional nature of my work because it has the power to connect to other people who are dealing with similar issues—specifically issues like trauma or assault—that society has not universally agreed upon terms to discuss. 


You will always be
you inside a dark theater

          Watching yourself

film | gabriel ricard | captain canada’s movie rodeo

“ … in the end, dismissing Spielberg’s opinion is a rational response to someone who just doesn’t seem to believe in the long-term benefits of more filmmakers having a seat at the so-called table. However, I am not in the mood for anyone who wants to dismiss his talent or importance. Even if he’s wrong, and even if this is a stupid argument, he’s at least earned the right to be wrong.”

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