Just a quick note about this month’s POETRY: it was significantly less queer than the last few. I only mention this because it felt like the pendulum of representation had swung rather far in a direction that didn’t speak to me. The more varied content I consume, the more I push myself out of so-called “comfort zones” to read perspectives on race and sexuality that aren’t my own, the more I think that there is necessary division in literature. It comes down to the question of audience: Who am I writing for? I think there is some sentimentality expressed in certain corners of the literary world that expect truly open-minded people to not only read but comprehend writing that comes from rarely—if ever—visited quarters. I’m of the opinion that it’s fine to have content that's only for a specific subset of people, be they demarcated by race, gender, sexuality, or what have you. I don’t think it’s necessary to feel guilt for not comprehending such work.

It's okay to read something with an open mind and say, “I don’t get it.” It’s equally okay to not want to get it; Lord knows there’s an ocean of material out there that begs for digestion and doesn’t demand mental gymnastics or denial of self to understand and enjoy.


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