Postcard from Sissinghurst by Denise DiMarzio
“Postcard from Sissinghurst” by Denise DiMarzio I. My hand hesitates, hovering above the clean white rectangle, the small space wide open, waiting, years unwritten. Having a great time. Wish you were here. Vita would never hesitate. In the white garden, I wanted to kneel down with you, anchor my hands in your dark curls, grow roots and wrap them around us like wild bindweed. II. The red deer wander. Shapely...
Recognition by Sandy Gillespie
“Recognition” by Sandy Gillespie We open the window to the lapping bay and laze beside the fire. Overnights are rare for grown women, uninterrupted hours delicate as artichoke petals, from which we scrape soft flesh with gentle teeth. The Cabernet is an eighty-five, and children don’t exist for us tonight. Tonight we are women talking about our lovers. Yours is new, and he moves in such a way that...
The Geography of First Kisses by Karin Cecile Davidson
“The Geography of First Kisses” by Karin Cecile Davidson Compass Points The first was Leon. A small, muscular boy. A midshipman at the academy. He knew about compasses, easterly winds, how to bring the boat about on white-capped seas. I went for his blond hair and his deep voice, both like honey, thick and golden and crowded, the waxen chambers, the echo in my chest. Summer grew brighter, and I...
Lovers in the Age of Airmail by Kelly Cressio-Moeller
“Lovers in the Age of Airmail” by Kelly Cressio-Moeller There is a reason it is called longhand. Writing takes time to winnow out the artifice in blue-black script. You write each other page after page, month upon month, year after year; your cursive cross-stitching the Atlantic, soaring over slate rooftops through the open windows of each other’s lives, entwining yourselves as Chagall’s lovers. You learn...
Ear to Water, Heart to Current*
*Not Always by Denise Miller _________________________________________________________ Being held by the history and blood of women from everywhere possible as well as the future. To gift the mentorship that has helped me grow and that I was able to pass on to others while I lived. To help other women form and grow forward in a way of their choosing. To leave this earth with pride in how I have joined with others to...
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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fathoms Feb 28, 2026 -
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