Anne Frankenstein by Deborah Thompson
“Anne Frankenstein” by Deborah Thompson When I open my journal, Anne emerges from her hiding place to hover at my shoulder. Does this happen to all female Jewish writers? I began to keep a journal at age 11 after reading The Diary. I named my journal Anna. “Dear Anna,” I’d write, and then describe my pre-teen travails to Anne Frank in her voice. “Terri Goodman whispered to Amy Bloom in the temple carpool that...
Tortoise by Naomi Westerman
“Tortoise” by Naomi Westerman Extract from the full-length play. Setting: A secure psychiatric hospital ward. ISOBEL, 30s, a fragile woman with bandaged wrists, hides inside a fort made out of bedding. She is alone. She sits in silence for a long time. Finally (for the first time in the play) she crawls out of her fort. ISOBEL When I was five, I had a stray tortoise. We found him in our front garden, a...
You Accompany Parents Through Winter by Alice Cone
“You Accompany Parents Through Winter” by Alice Cone As you tend to your father this winter, when the surface is white, the sky smudged glass, may your breath swell and rest like the river as it courses through shadow and silver, trusting forward and chanting the chorus that will carry your mother through winter. When the air is so cold it would splinter and your muscles so taut they would collapse, may your...
Small Bodies by Alexandra Reisner
“Small Bodies” by Alexandra Reisner A six-year-old child’s eyes are set only about three feet off the ground, which is probably why the girls saw it first. We were coming from the tennis courts when I noticed two or three of them crouching. “What is it?” I asked as I knelt to see what they saw. It was a mouse—a baby—on its side in the grass. Its head was touched with blood, but still its sides rose and fell...
Some Secrets by Debbie Urbanski
“Some Secrets” by Debbie Urbanski Outside this window there used to be a tree. This is the first secret. Now all I can see is the sky which, today, lacks personality, a plain blue streaked with predictable clouds. My neighbor cut the tree down. Is this the second secret? Let’s say, for now, that it’s not, that it is more a continuation of the first. This neighbor of mine plans to cut down more trees soon, or...
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
Recent From Waves
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seabed or ocean floor Sep 26, 2025
