Smash Shop by Elizabeth Jacobson
“Smash Shop” by Elizabeth Jacobson From the bench above the pond I watch two ducks make dark channels in the water as they feed, pathways through a mosaic of cracked green ice. Behind me the rocks, strata of red igneous beneath ochre sandstone, are an unconformity— a geologic span— characterized by an immense amount of nothing between two calculable intervals of time. Nothing not meaning that something wasn’t...
Like a Maelstrom with a Notch by Lois Marie Harrod
“Like a Maelstrom with a Notch” by Lois Marie Harrod Emily Dickinson And when the clothing factory collapsed in Dhaka, Bangladesh, one young seamstress was trapped in the Muslim prayer room which also stored boxes of skirts and shawls, shirts, sheers, socks and sequins, and for those in need, a few prayer cloths thrown over pipes...
Good Stories by Esther Cohen
“Good Stories” by Esther Cohen What is the same what is different? When I was a child I had a big bear funny bear a girl bear not a doll with yellow hair I talked to Miss Bear all day long told her stories long long stories. I didn’t know much about bears. I knew she was smiling at me. Many of us listen for what we know, familiar sounds. Maybe this starts with lullabies, with words we hear every night,...
The Frame of a Couch Is Not a Couch by Karen Skolfield
“The Frame of a Couch Is Not a Couch” by Karen Skolfield The bricked-up fireplace doesn’t even pretend. We could start a fire on the hearth, but then what? In front of the Hotel Lewis and Clark, the Walk sign’s stopped working. For ten years I haven’t seen my father. Every public building has an exit plan. He forwards emails: “The Grandmother of All Blond Jokes.” Heidegger said we must abandon logic to...
Sexy Barbie Rapunzel by Deb Jannerson
“Sexy Barbie Rapunzel” by Deb Jannerson you yell blissfully unbound from the what-do-they-think of female education. your dime-dozen hoots poke me into the ground like a nail with phantom pounds from conviction of the skeleton key in your pants. another tiny weight between my shoulder blades, a further contortion in my wavy spine a brother scar of night terrors and feeble days without sun. you cast me as...
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
