Horseshoe Crab Fandango by Nancy Krim
“Horseshoe Crab Fandango” by Nancy Krim Head to tail to back to belly, you begin… spin salt sand into shell. No one tells you, you just know skin hardens into what protects. Remember to lie low beneath the tidal surge, keep still, up to your slits in sand. But always and inside in spite of you and your glossy shell, the body grows beyond its own protection. Moon shifts, bulges on her axis. You awaken, short...
Summer at Twenty-One by Eva M. Schlesinger
“Summer at Twenty-One” by Eva M. Schlesinger I loved the air before dusk Still warm, no longer hot I lay in the front porch hammock, the crickets singing with glee kids playing ball on our dead end Merry Street I lay watching the sky change from light blue to stardust to purple writing in a little notebook my grandmother gave me I wrote about the moment I was in I had sunk my teeth in like a delicious apple...
The Arbor of Chance by Peggy Dobreer
“The Arbor of Chance” by Peggy Dobreer ____________________ Share your response to this work, in any form, here Peggy Dobreer Artist Statement: Peggy Dobreer is a Los Angeles native, poet, dancer, teacher, founder of E=Mc2Bodied Poetry Workshops, and curator of THE RwIrGiHtTe READ at Stories Books. She is widely published, has one collection titled, In The Lake of Your Bones, Moon Tide Press,...
Poem as a Field of Action by Berwyn Moore
“Poem as a Field of Action” by Berwyn Moore We seek profusion, the Mass—ill-assorted—breathless—grasping at all kinds of things—as if—like Audubon shooting some little bird, really only to look at it the better. —William Carlos Williams, “The Poem as a Field of Action” I had not been thinking of death when they stung – three wasps hiding ...
Safe House by Jude Rittenhouse
“Safe House” by Jude Rittenhouse A child: eighteen months but too old in the eyes. The joy that makes you reach toward children has dissolved. This baby’s famished smile creeps beneath my skin along with the women’s bruises, missing teeth, broken limbs. Fragments I will carry with my own when I go home in one hour. Something no other woman here can do. Those in this shelter’s living room, crowded...
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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