Already Making Waves
Thank you to all who submitted Proposal Applications for the 2015 AROHO Retreat! The quality and quantity of responses we’ve received is a testament to the strength of our community, an acknowledgment that together we are creating something vital whose impact will be felt well beyond the time and space of the Retreat week. It is our hope that, through publication, we can engage even more women in the Waves Discussion Series...
Shakespeare’s Sister, Round 1!
Thank you to all who submitted to the inaugural Shakespeare’s Sister Fellowship for Women Playwrights! We received an amazing response, with almost 1,000 submissions. Semi-finalists will be notified on September 2nd and invited to submit to the second application round, due September 12th. Each semi-finalist will submit the full play from which her initial 30 page application was excerpted and her response to the following...
Vertical Answers
At the 2013 Retreat closing ceremony, Bhanu Kapil, writer of paradigm-shattering poetry and prose (and 2013 Retreat Small Group Facilitator; Mind Stretch and Desert Delight Contributor) shared her immense talent for creative alchemy by compiling, over the course of the week, words from the approximately 100 women in attendance. What resulted was “Vertical Answers,” a poem whose generative and synergistic energy clearly...
“Bus Ride to the City,” by Marsha Mathews
Afghanistan, 2013 Father’s beard twitches whenever my older sister, Mezhgan, comes into the room. His eyes glaze the way they do when they fall on a flower in the snow. I have tried and tried to elicit that same response. I have trimmed my dark brows like Mezhgan’s, I walk slow and purposefully like Mezghan. I have a bright purple banqa like Mezghan. Last summer, I learned to make minced lamb like Mezhgan, and pistachio dessert, too,...
“Eye See You,” by Toni Martin
That girl broke down. Back humped up like a kitten, breaths jerky, crouched in the leatherette chair. “You okay?” I say. Loud, to carry over her inward grieving. Head flips up. Scared her. Black hair curtain parts. Looks all around, for someone else. I been here so long, never speak. A big brown statue. Other chairs in the waiting room empty. “You okay?” Yeah, me, I tell her eyes. Black as the hair. She don’t talk. Maybe don’t...
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?
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fathoms Feb 28, 2026 -
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