Spring by Chloe Honum
“Spring” by Chloe Honum Mother tried to take her life. The icicles thawed. The house, a wet coat we couldn’t put back on. Still, the garden quickened, the fields were firm. Birds flew from the woods’ fingertips. Among the petals and sticks and browning fruit, we sat in the grass and bickered, chained daisies, prayed. All that falls is caught. Unless it doesn’t stop, like moonlight, which has no pace to speak...
Unfettered by Melva Priddy
Unfettered by Melva Priddy A meandering god stepped into silence when I was three years old, settled and spoke with me inside the dappled edge of maples, oaks and cedars across the road. Unfettered, I melded with dirt, clay, tree trunks and stone. Doleful and pliant mud, worked from yesterday’s rain which persisted in widening the gully across the front field, we molded into dishes, laid them aside. Red clay. Red bowls....
The grasshopper, the hawk, and the squash vine by Felice Wyndham
“The grasshopper, the hawk, and the squash vine” by Felice Sea Wyndham She sat under the plum tree. Gobs of sap had oozed out of the trunk in spots and dried into clear purplish lumps. This garden behind the wattle and daub washroom was overrun with squash plants. Their vines reached up into the lower branches of the plum tree, cascades of orange trumpet blooms along their lines of growth. She had come to...
Space Invaders by Roxanna Bennett
“Space Invaders” by Roxanna Bennett Childhood: recurring UFO’s illuminated her nights, ladders swung from stratospheric heights, detached manner of the doctors who sliced and examined her small parts, cataloguing ribs, spine, clavicle, femurs in their labelled containers, cubed the meatier bits, murmured over their findings before the cure and connect, numb reconstruct, then the body’s transfer to the bed miles...
Float by Wendy Miles
“Float” by Wendy Miles 1. An open door. A child pauses on a step. Her head turns, lifts to hear her name float above the yard. A child is an open door. The child holds her breath at the thought of what it means —her name—stills to hook it to herself with a bright pin. A child is a breath. A name is a bright pin. 2. A low sink. An open window. A mother leans at the low sink, shirt off, breasts pressed to a towel....
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
