Kitchens by Michel Wing
“Kitchens” by Michel Wing Bread cut in thick slabs, warmth pooling the butter. Swirled peaks of meringue, the lemon tart, sweet. Dinners of simple leftovers, always enough for one more. The kitchens of childhood friends opened wide for me. I entered hungry for mothering, left full-bellied, whole. ____________________ Share your response to this work, in any form, here Michel Wing’s Artist...
Fat Girl by Melissa Grossman
“Fat Girl” by Melissa Grossman I carry the weight of being a fat girl. I bear the indelible sledgehammer taunts: my brothers call me “tank” people say, “how beautiful” I’d be if I “just lost weight.” I wear the weight like battle armor, swallow my anger. I carry the raw egg of my future on a spoon. ____________________ Share your response to this work, in any form, here Melissa Grossman’s...
Safety by Kimarlee Nguyen
“Safety” by Kimarlee Nguyen I do not know where I can go. When I was eleven, I climbed to the top of the concrete shed in the backyard and looked down. The dirt was in a pile a few feet below me but I imagined it as the end of a deep, deep valley. I was wearing a hand-me-down dress from my cousin who is much skinnier than I was (or ever will be) and the elastic waist cut deep into my stomach. I pulled down...
Ordinary Sophie by Karen Heuler
“Ordinary Sophie” by Karen Heuler I don’t need to stand out in a crowd. The others do, of course; they want to be special. No one who “wants” to be special is special. The special want something specific. I find wanting to be repulsive; the neediness drags people down, puts weights on their legs; they can’t get free of it. I exist; I touch things; I move on. I am 16 and no one else in my family is 16 right...
Tulip Girl by Michel Wing
“Tulip Girl” by Michel Wing They said, Ignore her. Shut the door. Give up this hunt. What matters, one pebble in a wall of stone, one cry in a torrent of sound? But tulip girl, I see you, dark tips skirted round, your bruised petals dancing in night. No matter how cold the garden, cruel the hoe, there you are, glory, spark, shine. ____________________ Share your response to this work, in any form, here...
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
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Seabed or ocean floor? What is the difference?
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Immersion Aug 29, 2025
