Spoil of War by Leatha Kendrick
“Spoil of War” by Leatha Kendrick –for the Chibok schoolgirls, and all the girls and women taken Every womb ransacked, every womb wound round with shame’s body, once a studious curious being now bounty of a holy war. Every sacred shift of childhood ripped away leaving ravaged skin, unhinged senses, echoed calls to prayer beat in their ears, the constant wound remade more than daily. All the wombs...
Mothers Who Carry Their Own Water by Gerda Govine Ituarte
“Mothers Who Carry Their Own Water” by Gerda Govine Ituarte When there is no well land is parched mouth dusty skin cracked bloody fingers plant roses Mothers who carry their own water are viewed with discomfort curtains of words fall I don’t know what to say time heals all whispers trail behind like tails a reminder of what could happen to them Mothers who carry their own water live through in under around...
Women’s Voices by Diana Woodcock
“Women’s Voices” by Diana Woodcock Sometimes I listen to Turkish music, Bahar, Kordes Turkuler, even though the tempo’s too fast, too brash, because I need to feel at last a little unsettled, a bit rattled by discordance— the voices of women from Turkish, Armenian, Kurdish borders calling out to me. Language mysterious, but no mistaking their message. Same in every language: absence of love and respect the...
This Land by Chloe DeFilippis
“This Land” by Chloe DeFilippis On a farm in Lakewood, New Jersey, my father, a little boy, visits his paternal grandparents. They are immigrants, speaking broken English to the family and yelling Italian commands at the dogs. Their land is filled with food: watermelons, peaches, raspberries, blackberries, grapes, peppers, tomatoes, cucumbers, herbs, chickens, rabbits, and a goat or two. My father runs...
Manifest Destiny by Kirin McCrory
“Manifest Destiny” by Kirin McCrory It is Man’s natural state to expand his boundaries past the land that has been granted him by the immediate moment. Give a man an acre and he will fill it, and want two. Give him two and he will break those, and need three. It is the nature of Man to bound and be boundless, and the West seemed...
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
