![Untitled [the dark knows this] by Jennifer Patterson](https://aroomofherownfoundation.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/10/Wave-2.png)
Untitled [the dark knows this] by Jennifer Patterson
“Untitled [the dark knows this]” by Jennifer Patterson The dark knows this (1), the lap-fuls of minutes ‘til eyes shut, the way the throat feels blocked and gutted at the same time. Deep in the belly of a well. There is an absence fingers know, a leaving. Fingers try to grip. Where it’s wooded, where it’s windowless, where the quilt has weight, where a body lies, where a body leaves. Where a lake is still...
Stones by Michel Wing
“Stones” by Michel Wing Virginia walks into the river with stones in her pockets. Smooth stones, river stones, small enough for hands. I drive to the ocean with nothing in my pockets. No name, no wallet, no place to put my hands. She knows the river, she knows why she is there. I am somewhere near the Pacific, a cliff, a highway. Why am I here? Fatigue, that’s all it is. Enough. She writes, I can’t...
Stealin’ from the Dead by K. Bruce Florence
“Stealin’ from the Dead” by K. Bruce Florence Mommy moved in with us about a week ago. Seems the coal company boys is about tired Of the widow women filling up all the houses Along the dusty row moving on up the holler. I had to take her to the doctor today, but When we got back that thievin’ Bobby Ray had Filled his truck with Orville’s tackle box and fly rods. Orville thought the world of his precious gear....
Ace of Pentacles by Roxanna Bennett
“Ace of Pentacles” by Roxanna Bennett What is before you: Party dresses twisting on thin wire hangers. Japanese river stones painted with runes. Pill bottle shaking with baby teeth and a polished brown squirrel skull my brother found in a potter’s field. Lapis lazuli pendant. Curl of grey hair folded in a comic strip. What is behind you: 999 Carlaw Street. $825/month. One and a half bedrooms and a bathroom in...
Lines by Yania Padilla Sierra
“Lines” by Yania Padilla Sierra I cannot see See beyond the fluffy lines of euphoric dismay See past the smoky whiskey Warm in its dismissal of everything. I lick my fingers savoring the bitterness. My work. My work is done. My veins, tired from pumping diesel, From accepting poison, tremble Blue with age. My heart an old horse drawn cart Huffing slowly over A pock marked road. Another line, another vision-...
Art is my taste for freedom. I drown day and day until I pick up my paintbrush once again. So, somehow, I can tell myself that you’re not stuck in this room and that the canvas is the key.
Nina Salvadoré
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Seabed or ocean floor? What is the difference?
Submit Your Art & Writing to WAVES
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We meet each other in waves of light, waves of vision, waves of sound–a studio beyond boundaries.
Creative sisters, shoulder to shoulder, shore to shore.
This time, there is no setting our art aside. This time, there is no setting our art asunder. This is our time.
December 6-7 | oneness | noon to noon EST | dip in and out throughout this twenty-four hour wave
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seabed or ocean floor Sep 26, 2025
