an 8x10 print of the inside cover poem from issue 12, written by Megan Crawford

you will always remember
the first mountains you called home.

I grew up in the shadow of the saddleback,
where the holes run down to the coast,
but I never realized
they weren’t home
until I left.

I existed between,
neither here or there.
I settled into trays of chemistry,
made my home under the safelights.
the smell of ammonia, warm film;
black coffee, wet paper.

but slowly, surely,
those moutains became home.
the rose-velvet sunrises,
bluejay days
soft lavender at dusk.
and then I left.

now, in the shadow of the swan,
I find myself carving out a space again.
they aren’t the same mountains—
each one reveals a different memory,
another chapter.

but slowly, surely,
these mountains have become home.

there will always be mountains.

there will always be mountains, ©Megan Crawford 2021

• 8”x10”
• enhanced matte paper
• paper weight: 189gsm
• giclée printing quality

ships direct from the printer in a kraft stayflat envelope