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...
The Difference Between a Child and Offspring by Melva Sue Priddy
“The Difference Between a Child and Offspring” by Melva Sue Priddy The muddy-hoofed sow farrows on her side, fastened in the log pen, a wooden gate shoved up to fasten her in. She heaves and grunts. “Climb in,” he orders and I slip to the ground beside her. If she tried, she couldn’t see her other end, the swollen vulva swollen. And they will birth from that end, this year’s litter. “She’ll eat them all,” he...
In a Shark’s Mouth by Nicole Lacy
“In a Shark’s Mouth” by Nicole Lacy Someone once told me about the man-eating muskies in Lake Erie. Someone else swore there were snapping turtles big enough to take off toes and fingers. I stopped swimming, even though Grandma assured me that the stories of pikes picking off Great Lakes waders were myths. But because I was a curious girl, it wasn’t long before I learned about the bull shark, which can...
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....
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?
Recent From Waves
-
fathoms Feb 28, 2026 -
-
-
-
