The Bones of His Face by Jan Lewbin
“The Bones of His Face” by Jan Lewbin I invited My son Glorious and brilliant Yet so adrift separate distant From me In that painful precarious place Between boy and man To approach And come close He laid his head in my lap Rested his shoulders on my thighs And nestled his lean body Along the length of mine So that I could soothe The taut skin between his brows Circle my finger tips At his temples And stroke...
Outside Modern Myths: Waiting in the Car While the Teens Battle on Game Night by Rebecca Olander
“Outside Modern Myths: Waiting in the Car While the Teens Battle on Game Night” by Rebecca Olander My son and his geek friends are beautiful, with their Magic cards and D10 dice, their plastic-sheathed comic books and revelry in their own stink in the backwoods of gaming stores, huddled around tables like Tolkien’s fellowship round a fire. Sometimes, they role-play in forests, becoming weekend healers, totem...
The Disappointed Women by Celeste Helene Schantz
“The Disappointed Women” by Celeste Helene Schantz These are the tssking women; the women who glance sideways at my son. These are whispering women, who talk behind their hands; who wait for the bus with their precious brats, little rats with normal brains, mimicking my boy as he talks to the wind, to the robins; speaks in signs with small fingers flying fast as hummingbird wings. He tries to join their...
At Precisely the Corner by Faith Holsaert
“At Precisely the Corner” by Faith Holsaert at precisely the corner a woman with wild eyes as you are turning a kind of wildness as you are turning turn wall-eyed terror another whom you knew and now, look and now, not whom you thought and look again and you will see another she is walking close to the wall no room for a shadow a dog follows a feist dog who fits inside her shadow you know these dogs know them...
Kymopoeia by Tina Pocha
“Kymopoeia” by Tina Pocha They cut my breasts off. They want me to love, but they cut my breasts off. They gave me one earring. How can I be fair with just one earring? They say smile. I smile. They say smile. I smile. They say you are not smiling. I say, this is my smile. My son thinks I love his brother more. But I tell the Ayah to draw his bath and lay out his clothes. My son thinks I love his brother...
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?
Recent From Waves
-
fathoms Feb 28, 2026 -
-
-
-
