winter 2025

Issue No. 22: Safety

Dear Reader,

At the start of work on this issue, “safety” was a concept that, like all concepts, remained intangible. A thought that buzzed and floated in my head. A hodge-podge of events that were both starkly contrasting and haphazardly blurred. Safety is a line drawn in shifting sand, between presence and absence, acknowledgement and invisibility. I wanted to engage with writing that made such dichotomies whole in some way. Tangible.

The pieces that lie within the pages of Issue 22 accomplish this feat. Each contributor, both in the words and images printed among the following pages as well as the ones found online in our digital issue, questions our physical and psychological securities. An interaction with any of these pieces is a choice to confront a topic so tender, and so vulnerably delivered, that whatever thoughts result from this exploration can’t help but find their way into our feelings, our guts, our conversations, and our very futures.

As global citizens, we are all about to embark on a voyage, whether we want to or not, that promises turbulent waters throughout these next few years. For many, something as fragile as safety in one’s skin, in one’s attraction, in one’s community, in one’s self, feels threatened, a bullseye waiting to be hit. Perhaps losing ourselves in our own comings and goings could save us from such fear, but then we know that even this contrived bliss places us face-to-face with our personal demons, wondering whether unknown risks outweigh the known costs. Such is the case with Stonecoast Review which, after its course of over ten years, once again faces a new iteration in this and future issues. The new direction is dangerous, thrilling, worrisome, and exciting.

But, as the adage goes, better to show than tell. We offer you the product of our risk, one taken by students, alumni, and faculty of the Stonecoast MFA Program who have gone above and beyond in their work on this issue. We hope the stories contained herein thrive, even among a world of uncertainty.

Sincerely,

Adam Rodriquez-Dunn

Editor-in-Chief, Stonecoast Review

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Home

In slow heat inside, fan whirls 
candlelight. I watch a film and fold 

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Think of Us

Think of split-pelvis roadkill,
of wild strawberries smaller
than the width of your thumb,

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Foreman Lopez

When they came,
Tomás Lopez, the greenhouse foreman, sliced
through the polyethylene siding with pruning shears,

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Noah

I want the ending we’ve earned even as I know it won’t land
on those who deserve it most, who engineered our fate not with their hands

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Crossings

The first man I loved would prop the fridge open
with his foot and chug two litres of water from 
an old green soda bottle that we’d torn the label off of. 

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Ever After

I don’t know how my brother forgave
the doctor who missed the melanoma
on his scalp and tried to freeze it off
before it came back and was everywhere. 

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chair

CHAIR (French, flesh)

When I try to tell you how a body becomes ceded territory I could
start by telling you I can’t leave the car’s heater at 69 degrees.

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Need To Know Basis

I’ll tell you that my legs were swinging off the exam table. But it was an MRI machine and I don’t know how to phrase that.

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