Self-Care as an Act of Survival in this Current Political Climate A Folio Curated by J.P. Howard As a queer, black, mother, writer, activist, womyn in the world, I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means for womyn of…
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Mothers Respond – A folio edited by Cindy Veach and Jennifer Martelli The poems in this folio explore how we, as mothers, have responded to the seismic changes over the past few months: are we or our children at risk?…
Post-Inauguration Because our candidate—the woman—didn’t win. Because my son is in 7th grade and kids can be cruel. Because my son is biracial, I did not have the right words when he came home and told me that some kids…
Icarus Takes a Window Seat Your voice on the phone carries a rattle of beverage carts, seatbelts snapping, and the frenzied beating of your heart as you wait for the door to close and trap you. I would like to…
HOW TO SURVIVE A DICTATOR → Call your mother-in-law who lived through the Third Reich. She may tell you to keep a chicken, collect firewood from the graveyard, or burn the stamp collection for warmth. All of these are…
Poem for the New Year My daughter said she would go outside her comfort zone, would pull the string on a booze-bottle popper. When her hands didn’t burn, she popped another. Said she’d try harder at school, listen in History.…
Instructions for Motherhood Gut the herring. Cover your body in ash. Thorn with the blood that grows from the roses. Layer dirty linens with hot water and lye. Beat the caustic bleach that forms. Seed the ingredients for medicines and…
Winter Baby Tell me the truth, I said to my friend, who had just given birth. How bad is it? You won’t believe the blood, she said, for which truth, I am indebted. And January, especially, is no time for…
Teaching as a Form of Self-Care I slept straight through election night. The next morning after learning the results I called my youngest daughter before her father took her to school. She’s a sensitive child; the kind of sensitive we…
Sunflowers Just inside the gate, the rise and fall of dying sunflowers: disheveled petals and downcast eyes. Then a flick of wing and I realize a sparrow is locked in a kiss of life, face deep in the flower’s, seed…