Adie by Jay Merill
“Adie” by Jay Merill I was staring at this peach on the fruit stall but not because I wanted to eat it. Well, maybe I did a little bit but I never had any money on me at the time. I felt in my pockets and as usual, they were empty. You know something, I’ve never eaten a peach before in my life. How sad is that? Makes me feel like a fool. But I should be saying who I am. My name’s Adie and I live,...
The Potential of Yellow Roses by Susan J. Erickson
“The Potential of Yellow Roses” by Susan J. Erickson I spent my formative years leading fish to water. I heard my mother thinking, You are not living up to your potential. Then I was struck by static electricity...
Selkie by Sandra Cross
“Selkie” by Sandra Cross To earn my way to the beach I have to make it through the back yard past nodding buds of sour-grass their white corms underground waiting to be next spring’s weeds. Past the choking pepper tree its bark sliced by narrow wire golden sap marking a slow trail down its trunk, past the Azalea. smothered by sweet woodruff. Past a gopher proof hole waiting to be dug for the lavender...
There Was a Door by Leatha Kendrick
“There Was a Door” by Leatha Kendrick There was a door and her hand on its lever. In too many clothes – her coat’s wide cape collar, her high button shoes, a bonnet heavy and huge whose beruffled lining frames a thin face. Enough to smother a watcher. For more than a century she’s stood, not going through. Was she leaving or coming...
Rebuilding the ’63 Beetle by Nancy Krim
“Rebuilding the ’63 Beetle” by Nancy Krim The engine needs rebuilding he said and she said I’ll do it. But what about the camshaft? She said I can see it slipping there, sliding against the pulley I can see where the problem is. He said you’ll never get it down off the blocks to tow it, you won’t know where to order parts, how to disassemble— I know all about dissembling, she said. I’ve done it all my life....
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 -
-
-
-
