At the Whaling Museum, Point Lobos by Ruth Thompson
“At the Whaling Museum, Point Lobos” by Ruth Thompson Let us begin here: outside the one-room whaling museum at Point Lobos, beneath the dark arms of cypresses. White bones of whales lie stacked— chained together so that no one can steal them. No charnal ground, no messy metamorphoses, no vultures. Only the antler shapes of Cypress’s transcendence, and these white bones, past changing. Drybones like stones....
Promise by Barbara Sullivan
“Promise” by Barbara Sullivan Age is the great unseen divider of souls—each from the other and from its own former selves—and at the same time, it’s the one commonality that can be counted on: we have only to wait a while and we understand everyone. Time both speeds up and elongates as one ages—maybe relativity is somehow at work—and I feel close to the people I have loved and lost in a new way as I pass...
The Mirror by Lytton Bell
“The Mirror” by Lytton Bell Look into the mirror and do not flinch You can see Death now rubbing her hands together spotted, wrinkled, bulging with veins engulfing every part of you without judgment You’re a woman with no past always threading her needles on the first try a flurry of diet pills and designer jeans never to be all you might have been You could be lost and not know it a castle with...
Karma by Felicia Mitchell
“Karma” by Felicia Mitchell Saving the sparrow whose small self is wound by wire may not save the cat half eaten by coyote. It may not save even me from myself, sorrow coiled around my heart like a copperhead. I love my cat. I love the coyote that tried to eat the cat. But I am sad about the cat, as sad as a woman crying. I know it is what it is, this snake that will strike or not strike, on any given day, no...
Beginning the Journey by Ruth Thompson
“Beginning the Journey” by Ruth Thompson Something is ended. She launches the small paper boat of it out onto the ocean and turns to the west. To wade out through glittering and foam, to lie upon the deep, to be a membrane between stars and mirrored stars. Then when her throat is full of all the voices she can carry, to turn and swim for shore. To run back, crying messages...
WAVES ALIVE | a different way of being
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The Q: Imagine what would change if we cast aside our lines to swim in mother waters.
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longings May 29, 2026 -
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