Note from the Editors
Dearest Readers,
In all issues of Red Weather we’re telling you a story—or at least presenting you with semblances of narrative threads and encouraging you to weave something profound with them—but this edition is special in that the narrative has never emerged so clearly and so immediately to us. As submissions poured in, we realized that you all, of course, were giving us the pieces to construct our very own town, one that exists only within these very pages. And how could we say no to that?
Our town doesn’t have a name—we leave that burden to you, reader—but perhaps it’s the one in Emily Younkin’s poem “In a Town of 13,000” or where the dog basks in a sunbeam in Sophia Fabiano’s “Sleepy Sunday Morning.” Our town-in-a-magazine may not have enough pages for 13,000 residents, but we can proudly say that some residents include the mother and child of Charlie James’ “Lemons,” the summoned, titular spirits of Lucy Seward’s “Santa Zitae, Virgine Luc,” Asha Meade Cook’s “Lovers of Gethsemane,” and the lonely hermit crab of Alyssa Samuel’s “Pretend With Me.” These are just some of our residents—we’re excited to introduce you to them all.
As you read, envision yourself in the backseat of a car, your parents in the front, and watch the sifakas in Zavier Alvarez’s “Malagasy Mambo” swinging through the trees as houses pass by your eyes (this town is in no way sleepy). Reminisce about your growth, loss of innocence, and sense of self through Kelly McElroy’s “in my gums,” Eva Millay Evans’ “Mating Season,” and Rachel Budd’s “a eulogy for girlhood.” As you drive by front porches and windows lit from within, you won’t have to wonder who’s living in each of the haunted houses in our little town for very long. Turn the page and welcome home.
Much love,
Eva Glassman ‘23 & Christina Stoll ‘25