Carnival Memories

The idea for this issue began with a line from a poem I read a few years ago, “hold a carnival in your body,” by Timothy Ojo. I no longer remember the poem’s title or the full sentence it was part of, but that single line has stayed with me. It returns at the oddest times, especially when life feels heavy and colourless. In those moments, I picture the quiet choreography inside me, the whisper of breath, the steady pulse of the heart, the movement of organs and tissues working without applause. There is a carnival unfolding in our bodies, rhythmic, persistent and full of life. It reminds me that even in stillness there is motion, and even in fatigue there is energy gathering itself for the next step forward.

As we launch our first issue of 2026, I invite you to hold a carnival in your own body. Let this issue offer you colour, music and warmth. Let the poems shift the light a little. Let the stories stretch your imagination. Let the artworks open something new in you or return you to feelings you thought you had left behind.
Semilore Kilaso
Editor in Chief

The staff of Zoetic Press shares some of their own carnival memories. 

Butter Cow
I love to shock my West Coast friends by reminiscing about the Illinois State Fair. It’s a sprawling, vivacious affair that blasts the senses from all angles. The waft of deep fried Oreos mingles indiscriminately with the nostril curling stink of cow patties. Politicians shake hands and nod respectfully at babies. Above their heads, screaming children corkscrew on some metal atrocity that was constructed the day before. Rotating in regal splendor at the heart of it all is a cow made entirely of butter, kept chilled in a glass atrium. Surreal and silly, the state fair must be experienced to be believed.
Kaia Ball (they/them)

Penumbra of Joy
Wandering through the bustling grounds of the carnival, a mesmerizing tapestry of lights and glamour surrounded me. The vibrant colors danced across the night, reflecting off the thrilling rides and creating an enchanting glow that seemed to pulse with energy. I held my mom’s hand tightly, feeling the warmth of her grip anchor me as I navigated the lively currents of people swarming around us like a vibrant tide. 

The air was rich with the sickly sweet scent of cotton candy and caramel popcorn, enticing my senses and sending my taste buds into a delightful frenzy. My mouth watered in anticipation of the glorious meal that awaited me—perhaps a giant corn dog or a funnel cake dusted with powdered sugar. Laughter and cheers filled the air, weaving together in a joyful symphony that pulled my attention in every direction, each sound promising new adventures and memories to be made.
Yasmeen Owens

It Was Self Defense
I remember the first carnival when I got to go on every big ride and try the haunted house for the first time at twelve years old. I was mesmerised by the blinding lights, the deafening screams and laughter, the joy bursting at the seams of the tent as the performers displayed mind-blowing tricks. I remember the laughter my family shared at the mirror maze with all our distorted images around us. After the dizzying happy spell of the thrilling rides, the last part of the carnival was the haunted house. I stuck close to mom and dad with my eyes closed while my brother walked ahead of us, trying to spot the costumed ghosts before they jumped to scare him. I managed to survive it without a heart attack, but I did punch an animated prop out of fright just as we were about to reach the exit. My family didn’t stop laughing the entire way back home. 
Aanchal Budhwar

The Rewards of Good Behavior
My parents hate big crowds, but one of my nana’s friends worked for the Minnesota State Fair and got free tickets to a band they liked. I don’t remember much except that my toddler sister looked ridiculous wearing construction-grade earmuffs, my brother just wanted to play catch the whole time, and I learned I have a sensitivity to flashing lights because I kind of, sort of, maybe passed out a little bit while sitting on my dad’s shoulders. I didn’t tell my parents because I didn’t want to go home, just lied and said I’d suddenly dropped backwards to be silly, and they bought us two shaved ices each for behaving well.
Odi Welter (they/she/he)

Fourth Grade Heroes
When I was a kid, every grade school had an annual carnival fundraiser. It was mostly traditional carnival games: ring toss, tombola, basketball shoot. Even as a tiny child, I recognized that these games were old, worn, and kinda janky, and yet it was one of the highlights of the school year. Never mind that the people attending that carnival were the same people I saw every single day—my classmates and teachers—it was still a special occasion. The highlight of those carnivals was always the dunk tank. Any kid who could throw a baseball, hit a small target, and land the school principal in a tank of disgusting water was a hero for weeks afterward. 
Li Quintana (they/them)

Funnel Cake Mistake
Growing up in a smaller town, the fair was the highlight of the summer for most kids in the area. For me, it was one of the only times I would have a bit of freedom (sort of) away from my parents with my friends. We would ride the rides until we felt nauseous then make the mistake of splitting funnel cake. The real highlight, however, was getting as many lemonade shake-ups as we could get before running out of pocket change. I still crave a lemonade shake-up now and then. 
Rith Scott

Stereotypes Destroy Unity
A team-building event, we called it, and crammed ourselves into the carriage of a Ferris Wheel, still nervous and new to one another. We came from many countries and walks of life, brought together to nurture student writing. We bonded over the bird’s-eye view of the fair, its lights too bright to let us see the city beyond it. We walked around afterward, and when we passed by a game booth, I was the one pushed to the front to take the air rifle and shoot at the little tags. Because I’m American and the stereotype was funny. I guess nobody expected me to actually be good at it. And didn’t you all look at me differently, as I took my meaningless plastic prize? And I thought: I’m so tired of stereotypes. Let’s just stay on the Ferris Wheel forever.
Bethany Andrews