My Treasure by Carol Fox Prescott
“My Treasure” by Carol Fox Prescott I learn the world, past, present, and future through my experience. I do not desire making sense of this, it already makes sense because I know. I may not always understand, but I know. When my writing comes, it comes from this knowing. When I doubt it is because I lose trust in this knowing. My gratitude expands my heart. My sense of wonder opens clogged passages. My joy...
Les Demoiselles de Flatbush by Judy Schavrien
“Les Demoiselles de Flatbush” by Judy Schavrien Les Demoiselles d’Avignon, in its stylistic innovations, evidenced the genius of Picasso. Nevertheless, my own riposte to that painting has its contribution to make: unlike his women, mine have each other’s backs. The painting has a private dimension as well; it remembers a beloved who died young. ____________________ Share your...
To Virginia by George Ella Lyon
“To Virginia” by George Ella Lyon If you knew I sat at your feet I think you do know If you’d seen me retrace your steps Hyde Park Gate where you were born Gordon Square ...
Re-interpreting the Carved Revenge on Your Own Back by Shauna Osborn
“Re-interpreting the Carved Revenge on Your Own Back” by Shauna Osborn In the White Tigers section of The Woman Warrior, we bear witness to a short-lived family reunion before our warrior heads off to battle. Her parents carve oaths on her back, making her body a text where genealogical memory is visible and an emotional connection to the family’s interests are made physical: “Wherever you go, whatever...
Unmaking the Form by Marya Hornbacher
“Unmaking the Form” by Marya Hornbacher Professor Firchow was a giant even when seated, like a bear who towers even when on all fours, and he had enormous hands that gestured slowly, gently, as a bear might gesture if it did. He spoke to us softly of Modernism, and the end of narrative arc, and multiple selective omniscience, and the poetics of fragmented time. I was a snippet of a girl, not yet twenty, shy...
Counting and What’s Counted On by Robyn Hunt
“Counting and What’s Counted On” by Robyn Hunt “Nothing thicker than a knife’s blade separates happiness from melancholy.” (Virginia Woolf, Orlando) I know for sure: 1 I am married. 2 I own a home. 3 I write poetry – creating metaphor where others claim they cannot. 4 I have a daughter; she lives elsewhere now. 5 My grandmothers, both storytellers, lived well into their nineties, and in one...
Erotics of Making by Barbara Rockman
“Erotics of Making” by Barbara Rockman The woman brings her body to the page the way a climber clamps her thighs to the rock face the way a lover drops the last garment the way a girl crawls into a copse and, singing, arranges acorns and logs the way a mother skips away from the departing school bus. What is arousal? Words at the pen tip, ink rich as...
The Task by Alison Hicks
“The Task” by Alison Hicks Late at night into the time before dawn is best. Too easy to put off in the afternoon— how long until cocktails, a swim, dinner? Salvage enough to approach sideways, crab-like. Lighted by what you wanted, present what you’ve lifted proudly, though it might be refused. You could be drinking, pouring a mug to really twist you up. Instead you’re here. When it is dark it seems...
Against My Own Current; Out in Plain Air by Lisa Lutwyche
“Against My Own Current; Out in Plain Air” by Lisa Lutwyche I haven’t worn a swimsuit in over fourteen years. I’ve walked on a beach or two, sat by swimming pools watching other people swim, but always wearing shorts and a tank top myself. The only people to see my torso uncovered, or barely covered, have been medical personnel, my husband, and my brave, then fifteen year old daughter, right after my...
Make a Body by Nancy Meyer and Janet Trenchard
“Make a Body” by Nancy Meyer and Janet Trenchard First chip away at a block of granite, pour water over it, rub with oil. In her hands, the heft of chisel, hammer, pitcher. Dust whitens the floor, leavens her hair. Studio walls close in, tools slip, she wheezes with each breath. Should she leave it out in a rain storm, hope for lightening’s magic crack? Climb above tree line, spine against the boulders’ heat,...
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August 8-9 | immersion | noon to noon EST
WAVES ALIVE is an immersive experience, held tenderly by the ebb and flow of ritual, sisterhood, creative expansion, then surfacing to share what we have uncovered about ourselves and our art. Creative sisters are invited to join us at any point and remain for any length of time during our full-circle offering.
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The Deepest Place Jul 26, 2025
