Christi Craig, Emilee Wirshing Depart N.G.Q., Sorrow Ensues

Abruptly, it swept through our field of vision: the fact that neither associate editor Christi Craig, professional quitter, nor poetry editor Emilee Wirshing, born bearing a white flag aloft, could hack it at Noble / Gas Qtrly. The merest allusion to either of these two yellow-bellied milksops elicits the sensation that one’s meal has dug in its heels, has begun to summit. Isn’t it fitting, then, that our two former editors, noted invertebrates of pusillanimous deportment, exited through the vomitorium in the draft of our latest issue? Had these sentient two-weeks’ notices planned to abscond hitchlessly to their ignominious roosts without first tholing the cudgels of the public’s gauntlet hand, may we suggest, with some cheek, that those plans be revised?

 

“You’ve put out such a beautiful publication,” says C. Craig, “and [Noble / Gas Qtrly] deserves someone who can give more time and attention to it . . . than I have available,” noting that her “day job has upped the number of hours per week that [she] works, which limits [her] free time.”

 

Says E. Wirshing, “I don’t want to abandon you, but I’m drowning,” her foot at the back of our head, the water stagnant up to our ears. “If I were the worst person ever and had to put [her editorship] down to work on my [MLIS] degree, could you find someone to be poetry editor?”

 

“You know you can contact me anytime,” C. Craig says. The phone number she hands us starts: 555. “I hope to keep in touch as literary colleagues.”

 

All you can hear is footsteps retreating in the dark.

 

In better times, we had come to know C. Craig as warm, a director, a person to whom you could turn with problems needing solved, a person you could ask and ask of. She stood us up—oh, foreshadowing—on the right foot in regards to what we as a journal should seek and publish.

 

In better times, we had come to know E. Wirshing as earnest in her efforts to find the good in every poem sent to us and doubly so in the poems we chose to hang our hat on. The close work she did alongside our contributing poets is evident in Issues 202.1 and 202.2.

 

Time tailspun, talismans gone.

 

Here, we spite ourself: They will be missed.