we should have by Carrie Nassif
we should have By Carrie Nassif we, the sisterhood of barbed wire museums who among us isn’t a collection of prickly, of misused connections of twisting pointed links crafted by thumb and elbow-grease once wound-tight-over-driftwood wires long since uncoiled from their uprights those fence-mending callouses all smoothed away with time it was yellow polaroids ago water over rocks under bridges we should have lassoed...
Open or Safe by Laura Grace
“Open or Safe” by Laura Grace When she decided to go back, it opened again. The stitches popped in response to that final thought, that, I miss her more, moment. She went to the hospital the next day. She needed to be closed before she could make that phone call and she wanted to be sewn up before she began to pack herself back in. The doctor fingered the would-be scar. “This is a strange happening,” he...
Without Turning by Sandy Gillespie
Without Turning by Sandy Gillespie She feels him curve against her back. She knows he is awake, his hand moves with purpose, traces hip, thigh. Settles. She feels his beard on her neck; she wants to roll toward him, offer breasts to hungry eyes. The weight of her beak holds her. From behind, he cannot see feathers sprouted on her brow. He breathes greedy accusations. She opens her mouth but doesn’t turn to him,...
Hungers by Catherine Moore
“Hungers” by Catherine Moore She breathes deeply; it’s one of the few intrusions her body enjoys now, and she meditates fullness. Her husband left thirty-five years ago. She has as many years without him as with, more if one counts the years before college. Which she does because life started at their first date. And if she feels utterly mournful, she pulls out the Carmen Ash and wears satin for an afternoon....
Maternity by Sue Churchill
“Maternity” by Sue Churchill My daughter has a job interview so I am bargaining with God recklessly trading away all pearls of happiness, the ones I sought so long in the dark depths, holding my breath to bursting. It’s not just one or two I concede, it’s all and any and ever. I throw in the ewes, the lambs I looked for early and late, the one I fished for in the wet darkness of the mother, its clammy form a...
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 -
-
-
-
