It would have been customary to start by telling you about a peaceful view outside my window, but the truth is, eight Kansan trucks had thundered past the nearby road as I waited for the kettle to boil, and I’d rather dive in the issue with you right away.

If you can’t tell, I am at a loss for what would be a deserving introduction for this sensational collection of literature and art. What words would properly celebrate Gabrielle Oliver’s haunting translation of the Mandinka hymn or Yvanna Vien Tica’s retelling of a Nanay’s advice on becoming a woman? What more convincing is needed for us to honor March with Prince Bush or unite in the streets beside Liam Al-Hindi? What is left to say as we “tiptoe like gluttons / across the Cascadia faults,” “a soft yolk / of emotion cooking“ in the “theory of yellow,“ missing a grandpa who taught us “to cast a fishing line / that always came back barren“?

So, let’s settle down with the sun bears that are “good at solitaire while at work,“ with the dove that “bathed / in the juices of fruit streaming down its breast,“ and the Golden Shovel for “full-fledged gravity defiers.“ Let’s settle down—”there’s space to breathe.”

Or rather, let Sebastián Ponce take your breath away with a perilous swim in the Ecuadorian sea. Let the power of a single word wash over you as Abha Sharma, the fierce scientist and mother, navigates through family, research, and hearing aids. Spend some time with Anna Oberg’s childhood best friend in the years she would later relearn to weather the shape of the world. Listen as Yuko Taniguchi tells you about the pride and sorrow in the identity of Asian Americans and in the marriage of writing the stories of others and of our own. Contemplate the question with Sandra Sanchez: “How does a community exist in a world that does not want it to?“

When your gut is ready for an epic, seek for the medicine man in a hut enclosed by banana trees. Float above the funeral as the spirit of Mui witnesses her family honor her own death. Brace yourself for a hunt for Loretta’s mother’s lost bracelet. Seep into the grief and displacement with R.: “The sugar maple will outlive them all, and then it will die too.“ Finally, end your journey with a legendary romantic tragedy, which opens with the Orò festival in the concluding masquerade procession. Of course, how can we forget the gorgeous artworks that accentuate and levitate the issue’s aesthetics, or the talented undergraduate awards winners at K-State who demonstrate powerful voices and truth-telling of their own?

During this unprecedented academic year, we took Touchstone fully online, joined the communities at CLMP and Submittable, reopened our submissions internationally, redesigned our magazine’s brand image and online presence, and committed ourselves to creating a safe platform that amplifies underrepresented voices. It was the first time that we offered every contributor an honorarium and solicited audio readings to improve our accessibility, and it debuts today as the first digital-only issue in Touchstone’s 46 years of history.

When I became the editor this time last year, I couldn’t have fathomed gathering a collection so stunning and fiercely tender, so true to itself and ready to share its warmth, that it would take a leap out of the edge of my dreams and became a light of its own. This is, what I believe, Touchstone’s strongest and most diverse issue yet. And I owe it to my predecessors who had grown this platform in their tenure, for Mawi Sonna’s friendship and early initiatives, for my editorial team who worked tirelessly despite their busy schedules, and for K-State’s Department of English for supporting the magazine’s visions since 1975.

Last but not least, thank you, dear reader, for reading Touchstone and celebrating the incredible works of our emerging and established writers and artists.

Wherever you are, however your week is going, I invite you to experience this issue in the direction your heart gravitates toward. Wind down. Dive in. Kettle is boiled. A journey awaits.