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....
Someone Blundered by Leonore Hildebrandt
“Someone Blundered” by Leonore Hildebrandt For nothing was simply one thing. Virginia Woolf While father paces and declares, mother takes a moment by the window. In her own room, the girl finds that words are emboldened by the sounds of waves–– the other Lighthouse was true too. Here the picture wants a daub–– perhaps this time it is their boat. The girl is...
Solitary Prism by Kathleen Hellen
“Solitary Prism” by Kathleen Hellen —at the House of Inscriptions, Little Moreton Hall, Aug. 3, 1649 in this custom of the bride—a girl The beautiful gardens encircling The trefoils and the quatrefoils as rings inside of rings The long gallery where the Queen herself had danced The magnificent bay where panes were scored on upper-storey windows The “a” looks like an...
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 -
-
-
-
