Spiral Bound by Coke Tani
“Spiral Bound” by Coke Tani One thing led to another and another, and before I knew it, I couldn’t stop taking pictures of all kinds of empty spaces … I remember so clearly how, when these “empty space” [pictures] began, my breathing went to my belly. — Coke Tani ____________________ Share your response to this work, in any form, here Coke Tani Artist...
The Q | introduce yourself
Q: When we dare to meet in the deepest pools of creative intention, how will we introduce ourselves?*Responses will be curated and may be shared with permission.Permission* Yes, I give my permission Show Full AgreementBy submitting your response, you are granting AROHO permission for possible publication – in whole or excerpts – in digital Waves and Waves archives, which may also be shared on our website and social platform.Name*...
Fracture by Juanita Kirton
“Fracture” by Juanita Kirton narrows of light rest on me feets’...
My Country of Origin Is by Tandy Sturgeon Wolff
“My Country of Origin Is” by Tandy Sturgeon Wolff No country. Show me one and I will point out no line scratched in the earth, no fence as long as you say. So forget it. No one has one. The closest thing to a country is your body.You imagine a country of your own that is very old, but it’s not old enough, never enough to sing in your ears like birds do. And birds are still at this point, everywhere....
Home by Kristen Ringman
“Home” by Kristen Ringman I don’t feel home anywhere after losing it, after the shipwreck. We move from place to place. It feels better to move. It reminds me of the sea. I wake each day with disappointment I pretend can be cured with coffee or friends, with your small lips nursing my breasts, the way you ask for “yogurt and granola” every morning, without fail. Every day, by mid-day, I fail myself—I give in...
Does the sea remember everything? I wonder.
Does she absorb everything? Does she keep it safe?
Virginia Woolf
. . .
The Q: Can you fathom the spectacle that would be created if we moved together, arms outstretched, close enough to touch?
The Q: What echoes through you that longs to take form—a poem, an image, a mark, a whisper of becoming?
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