The Turning Leaf Journal

In our ongoing attempts to understand the transformative nature of the world and ourselves, we’re asking: What haunts us? What is grief if not the final act of love? Who do we become after surviving our worst moments? How (and for whom) do we carry forth seeds of joy, faith, and hope?

Perhaps it’s the winter, or the aftermath of my cross-country move, but I often feel as if it’s impossible to stop or even slow down. In a world which prioritizes material productivity above fostering relationships, building community, and nurturing ourselves, it is more important than ever to remember why we write. Art heals, confesses, holds space, carves meaning. Literary spaces have historically been, and always will be, a place to rebel in our own right–to reclaim that which is most sacred to us.

In the background of our creative work and community building is an age of unending climate catastrophes, genocide, and the chilling rise of authoritarian figures. It is more important than ever to form networks of safety and connection. We, through our very existence, become pillars of resistance when we choose to offer support and amplify the voices of those affected by such callousness and violence. 

Now is a time to remember why we form communities: so we have somewhere to turn when we begin to lose hope. Community, in this day and age, looks a little different from how some of us were raised. I grew up surrounded, in every direction, by people who shared my values, hopes, and beliefs. When I left that community in my early twenties, because I no longer shared their values, hopes, or beliefs, it took a long time to feel like I belonged somewhere again. Then I found community in the writing world and I saw an opportunity to create an even closer one, one I could really be a part of, with The Turning Leaf. This journal is more than just a place where people publish their craft. I, alongside Lauren and KM, want the words we publish here to mean something, to show people they aren’t alone, to show people we can stay alive even when things are grim and painful, and, in our loftiest of goals, to give people a place to find hope.

Before you crawl inside the pages of this issue, I need to signal a few cautions. There are whispers, and some screams, of unimaginable violence. We do not endorse these acts of violence and gore, nor do we publish gratuitous violence–violence for violence’s sake. But we recognize the importance of giving space to these lived experiences, and choose to present them here for you, as they are told, memoirs of trauma and the strength of surviving. Volume 1, Issue 2 does not provide answers to why bad things, violent things, happen. It does, however, tell us we’re not alone.

We have endless gratitude for our contributors, both past and present, for entrusting us with their work. It’s not spoken about enough how deeply the words we write, the art we make, breathes from our soul. Thank you for sending us pieces of your soul, allowing us to house them in our small corner of the internet.

Much love, warmth, and gratitude,
Megan Eralie-Henriques
Founder, Editor-in-Chief