Chicharon by Salud Mora Carriedo
“Chicharon” by Salud Mora Carriedo Bisaya Chicharon (Kilab Nga Sugilanon) “Chicharon! Chicharon! Tag-baynte ang pak!” “Tagai ko’g usa, Day,” matud sa babayeng miduol. “Hutda na lang ni, Nang, para makauli na ko. Tulo singkwenta na lang.” Gibayran sa babaye ang dalagita. Nagsuot kini’g pug-awg asul nga sayal. Ang iyang puting blaws nagdag na, may nektay nga pareho’g kolor sa sayal ug pug-aw na sab. “Imo...
Trash Day by Therése Halscheid
“Trash Day” by Therése Halscheid This is how it really looked long ago…. This is myself back in time, a girl with sallow skin, dragging metal cans to the curb, notice how I stand for awhile that far from our house watch how my lips, bright as scars, are parting open with words so the great air can take them out of their mystery — see how my thoughts form the storms, how the morning sky fills with dark...
Bonfire Girls by Roxanna Bennett
“Bonfire Girls” by Roxanna Bennett My abortion your whatever, iceberg. Sometimes boys are ways to mark a space with caution tape, identical parks, collapsible homes, your bluebird this ghost word. We’re adrift in an ocean of fuck. Your orbit slow motion, I am weeks without weather. You storm soaked, late, heavy, never gaining traction. Stuck, stuck, but sometimes hurricanes in mason jars. Blame Mercury for...
The Third Thing by Kathleen Kelly
“The Third Thing” by Kathleen Kelly Grandma Agnes, like me, believes all things bad come in threes. My father’s recovered love of whiskey, Uncle Virgil’s violet eyes in milky disguise, the May twister churning at our cellar door. Hinges contorting like Comaneci’s saltos and somersaults. Grain silos gouged, groaning— holding their sides. The auger mangled. Yet her sweet peas survive, thrive even, tendrils...
My Father’s Coat by Christy O’Callaghan-Leue
“My Father’s Coat” by Christy O’Callaghan-Leue I pull your unwanted Army green dress coat from a box of crap sent home with us and lay it on my bed, bodiless, discarded because it no longer fit. Angry because you spoke to my brother’s history class but wouldn’t walk five doors down the hall to speak to mine. Typical. I remove the patches one of your wives had lovingly sewn. Airborne Ranger. Special Forces. I...
This month’s edition of WAVES is dedicated to our creative sisters whose spirits burn for their art while they are in the fight of their lives.
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How is artistic expansion the antidote to our worldly challenges?
Submit Your Art & Writing to WAVES
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We meet each other in waves of light, waves of vision, waves of sound–a studio beyond boundaries.
Creative sisters, shoulder to shoulder, shore to shore.
This time, there is no setting our art aside. This time, there is no setting our art asunder. This is our time.
December 6-7 | oneness | noon to noon EST | dip in and out throughout this twenty-four hour wave
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the antidote Oct 31, 2025
