of being by Mary Silwance
“of being” by Mary Silwance I love the way she kettles overhead scenting and seeing what is there but keens and dives only for what is hers— She will not rise glorious like a phoenix with mythic feathers to preen. No. She will thrust instead into death. Feast on disease. Savor clots of rot. Slurp decay. Make communion from wreckage. For this is what a wake is: meticulous release from malady ...
Claiming What’s Ours
On Claiming What’s Ours (A Distinctly Feminine Examination) In the Spring of 2022, TIDES heard the call from our Literary Ancestor Audre Lorde: “For the master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house. They may allow us temporarily to beat him at his own game, but they will never enable us to bring about genuine change.” We asked ourselves: What if AROHO removed “master” and its...