When You’ve Been Sick for a Time by Susan Austin
“When You’ve Been Sick for a Time” by Susan Austin The surgeon threaded the catheter through my superior vena cava, let it dangle just above my heart. The young assistant scrubbed until I felt like pudding— Strange not to feel pain, only meaty burrowing. Sometimes the catheter rubs and my heart hiccups. When you’ve been sick for a time you give up all your secrets, you give up lies. I liked building puzzles...
Stef’s Request By Abigail Licad
“Stef’s Request” by Abigail Licad The night before the surgery she hands me her Nikon and asks me to photograph her naked hips and thighs — the only parts of her body left unscarred by the accident. In a trailer transporting horses from her mother’s farm, her beautiful twenty-two year-old body snatched by the collision’s conflagration, third-degree burns across seventy-percent of her skin, a permanent...
Leap by Susan Austin
“Leap” by Susan Austin Wind roars home after a windless winter. I listen to its long-haul howl, wonder how spring birds weather a force that tips thin-rooted aspen, rattles windows in their casings, doors in their jams, as if the wind is an intruder, or someone lost, or someone lonely. For a time I lived in a homestead cabin built by two brothers from St. Joe: craftsmen, bakers, one a fiddler who snowshoed...
Lupus Outwits Me, Declares Martial Law by Susan Eisenberg
“Lupus Outwits Me, Declares Martial Law” by Susan Eisenberg Who would dream to awaken from fevered sleep stun-gunned into paralysis by their own ruthless doppelganger: power stations overtaken in a pre-dawn coup; from every organ of the body a triumphant, unfamiliar flag! Who wouldn’t be humbled by their double’s brazen brilliance? Or, begin at once to plot in whispers the first frantic steps of resistance?...
Inside Frida Kahlo’s Body by Mercedes Lawry
“Inside Frida Kahlo’s Body” by Mercedes Lawry Wildfires are burning, children are returning to the womb and birds are having their wings plucked slowly, feather by feather, keeping silent. The old rich men would never understand. Shadows will eclipse the heart but something else is missing. Pain is a career and the interpretation fills canvas after canvas. Love is an echo of that pain. Where does she put it...
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
