Song Eater by Ruth Thompson
“Song Eater” by Ruth Thompson It’s rich here— flesh, bone, nice bits falling. Comes my manta shape— Song Eater, me— I swallow what remains to be said. I heard her letting go. Then the noise of voracious worms. But potential music still clouds around her. I come to gullet that— until the sponge of me is full with it. Then I swim up, swollen as a wave— you can see me out here if you look— curved like a...
About the Ocean by Ginny Bitting
“About the Ocean” by Ginny Bitting What I want to tell you is that the ocean is not so scary once you decide to go to sea. If you stand on the beach and only watch the waves crash on the shore you will want to hide, but if you gather the courage to leave solid ground, you can ride them out over the great chasm where their violence will subside. You will float toward a horizon wide enough to swallow your fear...
Echoes by Caroline LeBlanc
“Echoes” by Caroline LeBlanc On an evening like this the sun spreads the taste of pomegranate after its orb is carved into rough caverns. The chambers, once opened drip wine so sweet-bitter we promise ourselves always, always to drink the thing its crimson echoes mention. after Rumi ____________________ Share your response to this work, in any form, here Caroline LeBlanc,...
The Sun Does Not Set by Mai-Lon Gittelsohn
“The Sun Does Not Set” by Mai-Lon Gittelsohn My friend says, The sun does not set! You stand on a crust of earth that revolves away from the sun. I whimper like a baby afraid that when mama leaves, she won’t come back. I want to go on watching the sun sink, a glass of wine in my hand and you by my side. I cling to the setting of the sun with the same passion that makes me believe my heart will beat tomorrow...
The Way I See It by Diane Lefer
“The Way I See It” by Diane Lefer When hundreds of small black birds tremble the water’s skin like vermin you know you’ve got a jaundiced eye. Besides which you’ve got transmission lines on rust hills. Dusty tamarisk. The wind. And black, barren the mountains. Dwarfed, mere hills as though geologic liposuction reduced them from the center long ago. By you, of course I mean me. And...
Art is my taste for freedom. I drown day and day until I pick up my paintbrush once again. So, somehow, I can tell myself that you’re not stuck in this room and that the canvas is the key.
Nina Salvadoré
. . .
Seabed or ocean floor? What is the difference?
Submit Your Art & Writing to WAVES
. . . . . . . . .
WAVES ALIVE is an immersive experience held tenderly by the ebb and flow of ritual, sisterhood, creative expansion, then surfacing to share what we have uncovered about ourselves and our art.
October 11 | expansion | noon to 3pm EST
December 6-7 | oneness | noon to noon EST | dip in and out throughout this twenty-four hour wave
Recent From Waves
-
Immersion Aug 29, 2025
