Body Memories, Keening, Scars by Erin Pushman
“Body Memories, Keening, Scars” by Erin Pushman Once, when I was twenty, injured, and coveting a married man, I sat on the grass in a park that edged up to a lake. Kevin faced me, under a sky deepening to twilight. The beginning of summer. Purple shadows, the infrequent, semi-distant sound of mosquitos. Kevin’s khaki shorts bagged open under his...
Unanticipated Effects of Altitude by Jennifer Steil
“Unanticipated Effects of Altitude” by Jennifer Steil Before you moved to La Paz, you were warned about the dizziness and nausea. You were told not to eat on the plane and to drink coca tea as soon as you arrived. Rest, everyone said. No exercise at all for the first few days. You took these recommendations seriously. Twelve thousand feet demand...
Sustenance by Sarah Russell
“Sustenance” by Sarah Russell When glacial bogs blush with berries it’ll be a hard winter, folks say. He is cutting down a dead pine near the cabin, beetle-killed by drought last summer. His chainsaw knows the hearth’s width without measuring. I went to the orchard on Route 5 and bought peaches for canning. The kitchen smells of sweetness, furry skins sloughed off with blanching, floor juice-sticky. He comes...
Riding Past the Museum of Natural History by Ruth Sabath Rosenthal
“Riding Past the Museum of Natural History” by Ruth Sabath Rosenthal seeing the steps I first took toward infidelity — how far I descended. My lover is history, has been for some thirty-odd years, yet, I remember the nervous excitement still — how unashamed and unnaturally good I’d felt. How beyond stupid, thinking I would scale those highs unscathed — so sure I was just stepping into my husband’s footprints...
Anatomy of a Lighthouse by Rita Anderson
“Anatomy of a Lighthouse” by Rita Anderson ____________________ Share your response to this work, in any form, here Rita Anderson Artist Statement: Rita Anderson, a member of Poets & Writers, and The Academy of American Poets, has a MFA Creative Writing and a MA Playwriting. Rita was poetry editor of the literary journal at University of New Orleans, and her debut chapbook, The...
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
