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...
Embodiment (detail) by Lisa Naas
“Embodiment (detail)” by Lisa Naas “Embodiment (detail),” image by Lisa Naas ____________________ Share your response to this work, in any form, here Lisa Naas Artist Statement: Currently pursuing her PhD in the School of Design at the University of Edinburgh, Lisa holds her MFA in Glass from Edinburgh College of Art (2015). Her research explores the creative process at the intersection of...
They Said It’s Terminal by Rosalind K. Bard
“They Said It’s Terminal” by Rosalind K. Bard Are there people out there writing about death About their own death, not just abstraction? I want to know what they are saying. Are they silent, numb, torn to nightmares Or do they laugh and open their mouths in big ohs? I don’t know how to do this. Talk. To me. Now. Before the silence. Can we talk please? The sound of your voice is the only thing The only...
I Am the Petals by Christine Redman-Waldeyer
“I Am the Petals” by Christine Redman-Waldeyer I’m not the mechanic, the machinist like my maternal grandfather, nor the carpenter like my father and his father. No, I am a girl first in pigtails, then two long brown braids, a silhouette of everything dark in our ancestry. I am the poet. I am the birds I feed, the time I squander thinking of all the things we shouldn’t be, then all the things we could be. I...
Her Garden by Christine Sloan Stoddard
“Her Garden” by Christine Sloan Stoddard In response to The Q Creative Form: What is A Room of Your Own? ____________________ Share your response to this work, in any form, here Christine Sloan-Stoddard Artist Statement: I am a Salvadoran-American writer and interdisciplinary artist who was born and raised in Virginia. Currently, I live in New York City, where I earned my MFA at The City...
Drummer: Beat of a Longing Soul by Ashley Mintz
“Drummer: Beat of a Longing Soul” by Ashley Mintz In response to The Q Creative Form: What is A Room of Your Own? ____________________ Share your response to this work, in any form, here Ashley Mintz Artist Statement: I’m a visual artist and writer currently creating in Nashville, Tennessee. I feel that my spiritual journey has been led by artistic and creative urges and my work...
At the Yoga Shanti Class for Cancer Survivors by Cheryl Buchanan
“At the Yoga Shanti Class for Cancer Survivors” by Cheryl Buchanan We stand in Mountain Pose, Tadasana, a giant step back with the right. Bend the left leg, left thigh parallel to Mother Earth. We lean, prayer-hands connected. The Sanskrit Yoga gives us “yoke,” of the self and the divine. We look like any class, but for the socks and headwraps, We need to minimize exposure among the diagnosed and staged. Feel...
Crone Hands by Molly Howes
“Crone Hands” by Molly Howes Her large hands bear bony knuckles and uneven, cracked fingernails. An array of rounded patches holds the history of warts. Thin scars line her fingers, the result of working with too much speed and not enough caution. Her hands are functional, not things of beauty. When she was a child, their unloveliness stood out more. By her teens, her hands resembled an ancient witch’s: worn...
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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
