The first question we must ask is: how do we begin this? And by this, we mean the legacy, the brilliance of creation that is Hominum Journal. Our gratitude goes to the brave writers and poets who submit to our magazine, our editors, whose dedication is beyond measure, and to Evan, who has given us this incredible opportunity to share our passion for the world. 

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All writing is some kind of devotion. As writers ourselves, we are consciously aware of both the consistency it takes to hone the craft and the taxing nature of observation, of the warm light that flickers at 2AM with a Document open. Our devotion is grounded in both the holiness and the defiance that your words offer. 

To recap: school began—and so did senior sunrise, junior year dread, late-night study sessions, cramming tests for the IB Math, and the like. We have been busy, and we are aware that this issue has been a long time coming. And for that, we apologize; we’ve been adjusting to these waters that are on the brink of a flood.

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But Issue 9 of Hominum has so much to give to the wreckage; each syllable in this issue harbors a luminescent haunt. In Cole Pragides’ poem, Gunfire For Heart With Initials, Pragides frames the ferocity of protest and revolt in contrast with love; as writers, we discard the foreground to probe into the miniscule, into the gentleness of a violent landscape. We are always loving despite this fury. Poets Nikolai Ryan and Star reconstruct this fervor: through the intangibility of abstract concepts— femininity and youth— their poems “HomeBody” and “love, dusk” speak in the same breath of a dissonant loss. We are asked the question: what defines loss? What is fury if not the precedent of taxation and loss?  Ryan and Star provide answers in their poetry, each verse reverberating with tenderness for their selfhood. These poets remind us what it means to lose and to want. Hominum aims to offer that semblance— because as writers, we are always tasked with transforming want into palpability, to a “warm thing in the winter of longing”.

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Though the prose selection for this issue has been modest, the works are stunning in their candidness and unapologetic in their suffering. Steven Lazarov’s 300 Seconds portrayal of loss is probing and blunt—the piece opens, posing the question: what defines death? Emma Rowan’s Mussle Stomping recounts sisterhood: youthful innocence fracturing, the long-winded recovery towards something half whole, painful, but ending on a tranquil note, akin to a last breath. 

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That being said, we are immensely honored to have received such beautiful work from our audience; we hope you will continue to think of Hominum as a temple for your words.

 

This is one of the times when saying thank you does not feel like it is enough. It never will be.

 

Yours truly, 

 

Jaiden Geolingo & Michelle Li, 

Editors in Chief