YOUNG RAVENS LITERARY REVIEW
Issue 12
Special thanks to our stelliferous contributors:
Phoebe Backer, Bailey Bujnosek, Charlotte Fong, Meg Freer, Stephanie Hauer, Randel McCraw Helms, Chistina Hoag, John Kaprielian, Stephen Kingsnorth, Bella Koschalk, Shobhana Kumar, Shelby Lynn Lanaro, Joan Leotta, Lori Levy, Richard Luftig, Bob MacKenzie, Barbara A. Meier, Antoni Ooto, Judith Kelly Quaempts, Shankar Ramakrishnan, Ellen Dooling Reynard, Janette Schafer, John L. Stanizzi, Cynthia Trenshaw, Sivakami Velliangiri, Vivian Wagner, Ann Weil, Kelley White, Anne Whitehouse and Christopher Woods
Introduction
In Issue 12, the authors and artists of Young Ravens Literary Review delve into the contours of the word “delicious.” Feast with us on Austrian krapfen stuffed with jelly, Japanese eggplant on matza, and all manner of scrumptious viands. Slake your thirst with lavender and chamomile tea, or on the thick pulp of oranges. Sip with Bailey Bujnosek on “a few choice drops of lemon juice.”
What is delicious may nourish us with the gorgeous and gruesome nature of mortality, as insects are impaled to catch fish for triumphant consumption in Barbara A. Meier’s poem, “The Joy of Grasshoppers.”
What we savor may change with the passage of time, mellowing or strengthening in our memory and heart. We may try to hold the flavor on our tongue, but as Shelby Lynn Lanaro notes, “Life quickly steeps.”
The care and patience in learning an art such as growing bonsai—the lush give and sweet take in a relationship—lead us to uncover a new narrative and understanding of ourselves.
All of the rich sensory experiences we have can become delectable to us. Like “the world / in an orange” (Vivian Wagner, “Peeled”), or “my mother’s golden bowl, her beloved / red handled egg beater” (Kelly White, “Practice Random Acts of Sweetness”).
Perhaps our existence is an exquisite sampling of wonders that we all wish to share with each other. In a bitter but beautiful communion, we can’t help but partake in the fleeting feast. For as Lori Levy declares, “Hunger. Thirst. We could call it love.”
Bon appétit!
What is delicious may nourish us with the gorgeous and gruesome nature of mortality, as insects are impaled to catch fish for triumphant consumption in Barbara A. Meier’s poem, “The Joy of Grasshoppers.”
What we savor may change with the passage of time, mellowing or strengthening in our memory and heart. We may try to hold the flavor on our tongue, but as Shelby Lynn Lanaro notes, “Life quickly steeps.”
The care and patience in learning an art such as growing bonsai—the lush give and sweet take in a relationship—lead us to uncover a new narrative and understanding of ourselves.
All of the rich sensory experiences we have can become delectable to us. Like “the world / in an orange” (Vivian Wagner, “Peeled”), or “my mother’s golden bowl, her beloved / red handled egg beater” (Kelly White, “Practice Random Acts of Sweetness”).
Perhaps our existence is an exquisite sampling of wonders that we all wish to share with each other. In a bitter but beautiful communion, we can’t help but partake in the fleeting feast. For as Lori Levy declares, “Hunger. Thirst. We could call it love.”
Bon appétit!
