Creative Nonfiction “Mirroring” by Christine Canty Poetry “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” by Katelyn Jane Folmar “For Matthew Dickman & My Almost Dead Brother, from the Elliott Bay Book Café” by Tyler Ziebarth “Indianapolis, IN from Seattle, WA” by Dori Elliott “Santa Cruz, Bolivia… Continue Reading
And the eye that eyes itself is your eye And the ear that hears itself is too near… You’re getting too close to your source –Andrew Bird, “Eyeoneye” It starts with your nose: nose to knee. See your toes? Count… Continue Reading
Lauren is a graduate of The Seattle School who loves contemporary literature and poets who don’t rhyme. She often sympathizes with Dorothy Parker’s saying, “I hate writing; I love to have written.” Read more of Lauren’s written work at laurendeidra.com.
“What’s one of the most impactful things your therapist has ever said to you?” I asked my friend Maggie across the dinner table. I met Maggie a year ago when I ordered a coffee from her. She used to work… Continue Reading
Christine is a graduate of The Seattle School, currently living and working as a psychotherapist in San Francisco, CA. She longs desperately for clouds and rain and winter darkness, but eating a whole avocado every day soothes the ache.
It’s a sacred thing A filling of cupped hands The hollow warmth of her womb His unexpected kiss A blessing. Like rows of cathedral candles Waiting to be lit by pennies and prayers We wait silently, painfully, Hoping to be… Continue Reading
Katelyn is a first-year MATC student with a restless heart and tiny, grounded feet. She takes pictures and writes poems to clear the sleep from her eyes.
I. I was strewn across your legs fingers intently in my mouth eyes intently on the pages that you read with your consuming voice. The Little Mouse, the Red Ripe Strawberry and the Big Hungry Bear. Your consuming hand enveloped… Continue Reading
Dori is a first-year MATC student who might be from Oregon, Bolivia or Indiana depending on the day. She hopes to explore the intersections between theatre and healing in her future work. In between Moltmann readings, Dori can be found listening to Poem Talk podcasts, wrangling other people’s children and crafting licentious baked goods.
The last time I saw you was out a rounded rectangle window obscured by scratches and a steely wing. I don’t remember grief, only that I wanted to escape your Carnival colors, your concentric circle mazes, your dust and trash… Continue Reading
Dori is a first-year MATC student who might be from Oregon, Bolivia or Indiana depending on the day. She hopes to explore the intersections between theatre and healing in her future work. In between Moltmann readings, Dori can be found listening to Poem Talk podcasts, wrangling other people’s children and crafting licentious baked goods.
Arms tighten around shaking arms— I shiver alone on this Bainbridge ferry. Space Needle and waterfront fade into lights against lights against the skyline: inside their melding reflections transfigured by ecstatic drizzle I remember how to become home— like that… Continue Reading
Dori is a first-year MATC student who might be from Oregon, Bolivia or Indiana depending on the day. She hopes to explore the intersections between theatre and healing in her future work. In between Moltmann readings, Dori can be found listening to Poem Talk podcasts, wrangling other people’s children and crafting licentious baked goods.
So then I sulked around Capitol Hill with all the other hip cats trying to look indifferent like I was no longer impressed with the world either & found a book of poems by Matthew Dickman. Man, that guy really… Continue Reading
Tyler is a second-year MACP student who loves film, walking on treadmills, & talking about Kurt Vonnegut. Sometimes, he wishes he could speak French.
In a lonely airport somewhere—Charlotte, I believe, There is a restroom. In this restroom is a black attendant; Inside this black attendant lives a voice that sounds like coffee And feels like velvet. She only sings when no one sees.… Continue Reading
Katelyn is a first-year MATC student with a restless heart and tiny, grounded feet. She takes pictures and writes poems to clear the sleep from her eyes.