Body Parts by Margaret Stetler
“Body Parts” by Margaret Stetler Leg lies on the rug like a dog’s gnawed bone. Arm against the bookcase. Foot in its slipper beside the chair. Under table glass, head with blood-matted hair. The house is dark, vulnerable to sky and earth the way the sleeper is to wakeful, watching ones. In the dream I ride with a stunt driver, a man I love. He speeds to the edge of a cliff, has seconds to brake. I count on...
What We Call Love Is Seldom What We Fall Into by Sandy Gillespie
“What We Call Love Is Seldom What We Fall Into” by Sandy Gillespie ____________________ Share your response to this work, in any form, here Sandy Gillespie’s Artist Statement: I am 66. • At 41, I moved alone from San Diego, California, to Fairbanks, Alaska, to get my MFA in poetry. • I learned to backpack. To listen hard for moose and bear. To dress for -‐35 and watch, at midnight, for the...
What Sets Her Apart, Part II By Tania Pryputniewicz
“What Sets Her Apart, Part II” by Tania Pryputniewicz Looking at Käthe Kollwitz, Women and Art, UC Davis In Raped, trampled leaves, vines. Käthe left one bloom intact. Black center tethers one unified petal. Viewer stands at girl’s bare feet, skirt taut over thighs, white flare where naked breasts disintegrate under sun’s sudden path unobstructed...
What Sets Her Apart, Asks Jayne, After Reading Another Guinevere Poem For Me In Massachusetts by Tania Pryputniewicz
“What Sets Her Apart, Asks Jayne, After Reading Another Guinevere Poem For Me In Massachusetts” by Tania Pryputniewicz (Poet to Jayne) The company she keeps: Arthur, his sorcerer sister, their bastard son. Merlin. Her view of the rain stippled Severn, orchard’s apples rinsed silver by dawn, the blue smoke of burning peat. Hair framed by candleflame, cobalt iris of eyes,...
Won’t You Be My Valentine by Elizabeth Hoover
“Won’t You Be My Valentine” by Elizabeth Hoover By now you are just the space my lover touches me around, his care unwittingly conjuring you. You left an opening to talk to me—your voice speckles through—but I miss you when I feel unknowable, a tongue too swollen to tell. My body is a dream I once had of freedom, a foreign thing that eats silver and loves spiders. How can I tell my lover of my craving for...
This month’s edition of WAVES is dedicated to our creative sisters whose spirits burn for their art while they are in the fight of their lives.
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How is artistic expansion the antidote to our worldly challenges?
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
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the antidote Oct 31, 2025
