fathoms
I wished that woman would write and proclaim this unique empire so that other women, other unacknowledged sovereigns, might exclaim: I too, overflow; my desires have invented new desires, my body knows unheard of songs. Hélène Cixous . . . You need to reach down and touch the thing that’s boiling inside of you and make it somehow useful. Audre Lorde “The Cactus Flower”...
Persephone Picks Lilacs by Paula Sergi
“Persephone Picks Lilacs” by Paula Sergi Imagine sucking the blossom, subtle taste of grape. She’s dreamed lovers entwined and misses her husband. Pale morning light drives her to the garden where robins pull red earthworms from the ground. They look confused. It’s colder than the sun had promised. Who grafted these flowering trees, one branch white popcorn fluff, the other screaming pink? The gardener...
What Does My Art Mean to Me by Karel Sloane-Boekbinder
“What Does My Art Mean to Me” by Karel Sloane-Boekbinder She built her wings out of her cage fashioned them carefully from ribs of iron each rib stripped patiently rivet by rivet then reshaped to bend in the wind no wax was added she did not need Icarus to tell her this fabric instead patches from the quilts of her Grandmothers’ resourcefulness stitched with the precision of her Grandfathers’ hands she built...
clear waters
. . . Does the sea remember everything? I wonder. Does she absorb everything? Does she keep it safe? Virginia Woolf . . . “Lifting Waves” by Anonymous _________________________________________________________ Even if you have never awakened to find the room moon-suffused, the odd shoe casting blue shadow, windowpanes gridding the rug in elongated mosaics, even if that...
At Black Root River by Sara Robinson
“At Black Root River” by Sara Robinson While it is very early Spring along the frozen edges of Black Root River, an angler of quite some age, sitting on a large stone rock, having found a dry spot free of brown snow and mostly level, picks through her fly box. It’s an old banged up relic (not too unlike her) but still useful and from her 20s. A gift from her grandpa who fished this same river from almost this...
Does the sea remember everything? I wonder.
Does she absorb everything? Does she keep it safe?
Virginia Woolf
. . .
The Q: Can you fathom the spectacle that would be created if we moved together, arms outstretched, close enough to touch?
Recent From Waves
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fathoms Feb 28, 2026 -
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