Hot for Epistolary Poetry

is fecund. It is full-to-bursting with sex and intimacy, mischief and wonder. It is fiendish and puckish and sweet and caring and hot and burn-it-to-the-motherfucking-ground. It is, in short, a behemoth of a book dedicated to imagining a collective, genderful world. For me, as a trans writer, it felt like being nestled into a queer bar or knee-to-knee at a Bluestockings reading or arm-in-arm chanting words of protest in Washington Square Park. Which is to say: it felt like being in community. And perhaps it is because I have a friend in this anthology, but I doubt it. I think it has more to do with the exciting leaps of experience across time and space, and these multitudinous voices all clamoring and conglomerating, eager to have their abundant