Dearest reader,
I remember when I first listened to the Hamilton soundtrack, a newly minted 14 year old nearing the end of 8th grade. I had never heard anything like this — hip hop and history blended into one. Safe to say, I was obsessed. Outside of my headphones, though, the transition to high school was looming. I knew I would have to leave my tiny bubble of the K-8 school where I’d grown up, exchanging 8 years of habitual routine for a puzzling maze of staircases and floors in the high school I knew nothing about.
As I listened to the musical on repeat, following the twists and turns of Alexander Hamilton’s life alongside a complicated founding of America, Hamilton’s final speech always gave me chills: “Legacy. What is a legacy? It's planting seeds in a garden you never get to see.” Young, scrappy and hungry like Hamilton himself, I was determined to take my (metaphorical) shot and make a mark on my new corner of the world. Yet, this was the first time I grappled with what legacy truly meant. What story will I write, and who might tell mine?
For our second issue of Iris, I asked our writers to think about this theme of legacy. What are the legacies we inherit, and what are the legacies we want to leave behind — whether that be to our families, our friends, our communities, and our world? To start us off, Carley hits hard and takes no punches in her piece, “SOLD.” that explores the rooms of her childhood home, how memory can linger even after the space changes. Simone’s inventive poem, Interlaced Legacy, braids together a variety of interview responses from UVA and Charlottesville community members that illustrates legacy as a shared responsibility.
Grace pens “The Library” — a short story about a woman who moves back to her hometown and works at the local library. Over the years she watches a young boy grow up and they learn from each other in more ways they might have imagined. Bailey’s poem, “Silence” meditates on the ephemeral nature of the seasons, how she and the trees change in sync, leaving something behind only to rediscover it in the future.
Jackie’s hilarious piece, “Top Five Questions/Concerns/Insatiable Fears I Have About Leaving College” takes us on a journey through her mind as a fourth year student this semester, and tries to answer the eternal question, what’s next? Ella’s music commentary takes on the pop genre, in her culture critique “Pop is Back” that charts the steady rise and explosion of three mainstay pop artists of the current moment: Charlie XCX, Chappell Roan, and Sabrina Carpenter.
Jordan traces the histories of forgotten female spies in a series of poems, “Ghost, Martyr, Traitor, Wife”, wondering about who we choose to remember, and who gets left out of the narrative. Similarly, Cassie features fellow student and curatorial fellow in her piece, "Anne Spencer: I Am Here! An Interview with Tessa Berman", spotlighting the work Tessa and her team at Special Collections are doing on the new exhibit about the revolutionary poet Anne Spencer.
Lindsey’s belated father’s day gift, “For my Dad”, is a reminder of the powerful love and dedication in parenting as she writes of all the ways, big and small, her Dad has been present throughout her life. Faith’s personal essay, “In Defense of Black Rural America” brings our issue to a close and chronicles her journey of moving from a big city to a small town in rural Virginia. It is a love letter to her relationship with the land and her family, to the place she can now call home.
Thank you to our brilliant writers and artists for your fantastic work on this issue! I’m always blown away at the depths of creativity and skill you all have. Thank you to our Communications colleagues, Leigh Ann Carver, Annie Gibson, and the social media intern team. Finally, thank you to Mary Esselman and Susannah Baker, I always appreciate your thoughtful editorial judgment!
Happy Reading!
Miriella Jiffar
Editor, Iris Magazine 2024-2025
