Headlight Anthology, n° 26 : Edge

Ennie, Editor-in-Chief

In her poem “Edge,” Sylvia Plath writes, “We have come so far, it is over.” When our poetry editor, Alana Dunlop, suggested edge as a theme for Headlight’s 26th issue, it didn’t even seem like a question. In these pages, speakers and narrators discover the ways in which they can reach the brink of identity or the final borders of home. Here, edge exists as an absolute height—the possibility of falling becomes both thrilling and terrifying, which is perhaps exactly what Plath was touching on. This issue’s team is made up entirely of Concordia graduate students, who live upon an edge themselves—making the choice to continue learning and being eager to see how far they can push their curiosity, a characteristic I believe is incredibly apparent in this issue, from the pieces chosen, the issue’s look, and how Headlight exists online. This issue of Headlight would not be here if it were not for this passionate team—it has been such a pleasure working with each of you. Morgan and I would also like to express my thanks to the CCSL and the English Department for their generous contributions. A massive thanks to my ancestors…Carlos A. Pittella, Alex Affonso, and Misha Solomon for all of their generous help and guidance. And, of course, thank you, reader, for picking up this issue of Headlight.

Morgan, Managing Editor

When we first began shaping this issue, we kept returning to the idea of edges—not just the drama of standing at the brink, but the quiet tension before a leap, a break, a bloom. In Headlight’s 26th issue, edge isn’t a stopping point; it’s an invitation to go further. The writing gathered here reminds us that to write is always to approach a border: of what’s allowed, what’s known, what’s bearable. And sometimes, to step beyond it. This issue—and Headlight as a whole—wouldn’t exist without our brilliant team. Thank you to our editorial team, whose attention and passion have shaped every page. Thank you to our graphic designer, social media manager, web designer, and sound editor, whose creativity and care make Headlight feel as alive online as it is in print. It has been a true joy to work with each of you. And, of course, a huge thank you to our contributors—your work keeps our edges sharp. Finally, to our readers—thank you for stepping to the edge with us.

Alana, Avery, & Crista, Poetry Team

Julia Kristeva, in Powers of Horror, writes that poetry is “a language of want, of the fear that edges up to it and runs along its edges.” In issue 26’s poems, the edge marks both a limit and a possibility; edge is a slice of a finger and the sharp of a blade; edge is a boundary between life and death. The speakers in these poems explore what it means to be on the edge—to be seeped in silence, to be teetering on a bus seat, or a balcony, to be on the fringes of society, on the run. When put alongside each other, as they are here, our selection of poems puts a microscope to the boundaries of poetry itself: they get right up close to the edge, and jump off. We hope you enjoy these poems as much as we do.

Gladwell & Lily, Fiction Team

When we think about what kind of story represents an edge, we think of stories that take place in the fringes—of a town, of our conscience, of society—and we can find those edges beautifully captured here. Each of these stories are about memories, which already feels like an edge—the edges of the present, always existing but now only really available to us. These particular memories feel like they have been sharpened over time by retellings or revelations. And it gives them a particular sheen and sharpness, an ability to catch the light and this light lingers long after the stories end. We are left clinging on to the narrator’s memory of a once promising band; of an intriguing friendship with a tarot reader and of a lucky man who bags the love of his life. These stories are a breath of fresh air to our anxieties.

Paola & Brooke, Creative Non-Fiction Team

Creative nonfiction is a genre on the edge. It’s fluid and innovative, existing somewhere between the factual and imagined, memory and reality—and the creative nonfiction pieces in this issue use that to their advantage. A past and present that coexist, an argument with a seagull, and the philosophy of living/leaving religion—that’s what these stories offer us, pushing the boundaries of the truth, and the ways in which it can be felt and represented. But that’s not all they do: these pieces also demand to be felt. The emotions they portray—love, lust, grief—are ones that can push anyone to the edge, that can become haunting. We felt these stories very deeply, and we hope you will too. Working with the authors of these three pieces was incredibly rewarding and we’re so excited to share their stories.