Jaguar Foretells His Own Extinction by Suzette Bishop
“Jaguar Foretells His Own Extinction” by Suzette Bishop “Our fragile ego drives us to possess the beauty and strength of the jaguar, so we kill it, then hang it on the wall, walk on it on the floor, or wear it like an ancient Maya King . . . the jaguar, despite its strength, is no match for the jungle-eating machinery of man.” Alan Rabinowitz,...
Break Beauty by Lisbeth Davidow
“Break Beauty” by Lisbeth Davidow The lights of lower Manhattan shone in the night sky beyond the bank of large, paned, arched, uncovered windows. In front of the windows, the other eight members of June Finch’s dance company stood quietly in the dark. Wearing a pale yellow leotard and matching tights, I danced alone under a spotlight in the center of the broad, sumptuous Merce Cunningham Studio on...
“Look at that, you son of a bitch” by Peg Duthie
“Look at that, you son of a bitch” by Peg Duthie In the world I want to believe in, we would greet hard truths with the gentleness born of water long gone under the bridge, milk wrung out of mops whose grey-clean strands also soaked up the tearfalls slicking the hay and slopping the mud against our came-by-their-age-honestly boots. Meanwhile the moon, which our schoolteachers said didn’t have water, turns out to have...
At the Interface by Renée E. D’Aoust
“At the Interface” by Renée E. D’Aoust “Catch fire, move on.” —Gary Snyder, Turtle Island If it all went up in flames, what would I do? Before her right hand shriveled to a claw, Mom tilled soil around her son’s Paradise lily. Once my brother, then a flower. Mom carried on, weeding with her left. What would I do, if the log cabin burned down? The oregano patch round the house should be defensible...
Keep Calling My Name: Frogs, Circles and Climate Change by Jocelyn Edelstein
“Keep Calling My Name: Frogs, Circles and Climate Change” by Jocelyn Edelstein On a sticky evening in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, I sat behind a tripod, peering at the screen of a small HD camcorder as my friend and his mom let me interview them about life, dance and surviving in Brazil on a very limited income. My friend, who I’d known since he was a skinny 18-year-old boy wearing oversized...
There’s No Place Like Home by Rebecca Hart Olander
“There’s No Place Like Home” by Rebecca Hart Olander Finding the screech owl holed up below the canopy of the spindle tree, auburn feather fist in austere bark, my father suggests we turn back for binoculars. I had never seen a daylight owl, only heard the dusky cries, feeling as mice must, quivering in a field beneath wing-blotted stars. Through doubled glass we focus on the russet bird, casting her as an...
Vanishing Point by Melissa Grossman
“Vanishing Point” by Melissa Grossman It is not miles ahead of you where the road narrows. It is not a mountaintop covered by low clouds. Nor, the columns of trees that grow smaller farther down the street. It is a gam of whales swimming just below the shimmering surface of the ocean, and you are whale, and you are water. It is that cloudless blue sky when birds disappear into the deep brightness, and you are...
At Butcher’s Slough by Simona Carini
“At Butcher’s Slough” by Simona Carini (Arcata Marsh & Wildlife Sanctuary) No ducks ply the slough No great egrets glide. Wrung out clouds pattern the marsh in light ink. Air as crisp as cave-cooled watermelon. Silence ambushes me in this quiet place of still water, wood pilings— remains of a mill— an old railway track. If my worries could ride away! My lungs catch a scent I am an egret sensing fish just...
Cathartidae by Lynn Tudor Deming
“Cathartidae” by Lynn Tudor Deming They were feeding on its torso, a yearling By the road in its mottled winter coat, Long hair grizzling the face so its muzzle Was thickened, more like a dog’s–the eyes open. Drawn from their thermals by the scent of death, They straddled the ribs with their talons, White beaks plucking the flesh, a flock Of silent purifiers with no syrinx. When a car passed they rose...
Perfect Kernel by Mary Stike
“Perfect Kernel” by Mary Stike On the house roof, the mild November wind blows my hair as fine as spider’s breath across my face and I find on the rough grey shingles’ surface, a perfect kernel of bright yellow corn. I know my spirit sister visits me, watches me and leaves her golden gift of sustenance and care. Above, a crow, in ascendance in his own web that takes in our garden, scavenged stalks cut down...
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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
