If Words Were a Waltz

If words were a waltz on a page of this stage, men might linger on language, and languish the age as each tip of the heel, with each click of the tongue, renders syllables spoken or broken, as sung. Where each note is a blot bleeding thoughts into strings, when the spots we call words…

Memento Mori

Tell two artists to create life in words and what you’ll receive in a pulse will be enough. Living begins when we see that every person passing through harbors a story we do not, has a solution to some problem we have yet to realize, is the voice for one lost and the encouragement to…

Untitled

Based on ‘The Millinery Shop’ by Edgar Degas. Grace in the folds that she fixes- dignified modest… and bold- shifting her shift, in the storeroom, she drifts perfectly poised in the cold- There’s a warmth to the textures she touches- there’s a depth to the dip of her hand when, in humming the beats widows…

Elegy For A Spire

Like petals on the burner, the pyre of Paris ignites, forming in the throes of her death plumes that meld incense to ash. -Amy Struthers (Image by: Nivenn Lanos)

Paper-thin Parchment

When I was six, I crafted a heart from glue and loose glitter on a morning, too far gone from now. At an age, where a cow jumped over the moon and sung of spoons I had yet to bend on plates, fated to be shattered by falling stars. Dear six-year-old me, trapped between the blank…

A Longing Fulfilled

And God so spoke a miracle that answered every prayer, to show me of His mercy molding tender loving care. For over sixteen seasons, I waited for a sign that came in but a gesture mild, but ever so divine. And God so spoke a miracle that healed a broken heart which gave the mind…

A Letter to William

All we know is that she was from Smyrna And like mother, was a teacher.   Who gave birth to two boys and was wed to a writer like me.   I was told that before her photo was stolen, she looked like you. Which is to say, you are a walking remnant of the…

Heather

Based on ‘In the Grass’ by Arthur Hughes. Heather Sing to me of scarlet skies and I will paint you a valley, sealing your sigh in my wind. One, where on topaz mornings, I might look out onto the restless waves and see in their rise, a reason why my heart skips stones. -Amy Struthers

Here, Besides

Based on ‘Woman with a Parasol Facing Left’ by Claude Monet.   Here, Besides In cleansing a pigment-encrusted brush, who turns their nails to scrape the clay-colored sands and play with the corals that sprout from a cup of clouded sea? Where blue bonnets can be, who dares to wash a wonder that is a…

Home

Based on Egon Schiele’s ‘The Border of the city, Krumau’. Home I fashioned a home from stones I found along the way- those placed by the riverbeds and collecting rainwater in emptied fountains. those in hollows atop mountains and those from the hatbox of my youth. How humbling fell the words of Ruth, when once…