Linney Stepp by Diane Gilliam
“In Linney Stepp, acclaimed poet Diane Gilliam gives us the story of a girl who breaks free from the force-field of her family to become herself. When we meet Linney, she is about to be traded for her distant cousin Robbie so that he can help her dad on the farm and she can help his mother keep an eye on Aunt Hesty, who is prone to wandering and revelations. Both young people chafe at being swapped like tools. But before this rich and...
lithopaedion by Carrie Nassif
Carrie Nassif’s visionary and cutting-edge collection explores the heat and blood, magic, grief and ecstasy of motherhood, particularly how this rite of passage and change of status transforms who we are from the inside out. As she writes in one poem, “a child emerges from the vapor first/ and everything else collapses to become its mother.” Her tilting imagery and daring rhymes take us into a wider view of how language and life can...
Solving for What Will Remain
“I do not weep at the world I am too busy sharpening my oyster knife.” – Zora Neale Hurston “Golden One” by Lyndia Radice, section image for Waves: A Confluence of Women’s Voices Read More _________________________________________________________ This World I Want You to Save [each title is a link to the individual work] Black Cat in a Field by Beverly...
Self-Obituary: Prose Poem by Lopa Banerjee
“Self-Obituary: Prose Poem” by Lopa Banerjee One day, a caged bird who could not be tamed will fly away, far away from this human territory of measured movements, usual chitchats, regulated habits and practiced, recycled codes. A bird who was a human by sheer accident, with a faulty topography of a mind that fed on nostalgia gold, on ungoverned desire and dreamt of sunken continents where the movement of air...
The Year the Sky Turned Orange by Valerie Speedwell
“The Year the Sky Turned Orange” by Valerie Speedwell it was the year the sky turned orange the Great Die Off, 12 billion trees ablaze the year rivers and lakes dried up and catastrophe wasn’t big enough a word to describe what was happening when the freshly dead piled up faster than could be buried or burned and the word rapture had no joy in it, only pestilence it was the year of vanished streets...
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?
The Q: What echoes through you that longs to take form—a poem, an image, a mark, a whisper of becoming?
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fathoms Feb 28, 2026 -
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