Rachel Lahn
Mixed media with beach glass on wood
Response

In Her Head
By Stefanie A. Shilling
Inspiration piece

on the back wall
between her left ear and her right ear
she positioned the couch

then the ottoman smack dab in the middle
right behind her nasal cavity

on the right side of the couch
she set up an end table
with trinkets, a book and a glass of water

on the left side of the couch
a tall floor lamp

and on the couch itself
a blue-gray wool blanket
draped across her lap

she sat on her couch
and looked out of the two large windows

the blinds blinked
open and closed
open and closed

and sometimes
they stayed closed for hours

the view varied a little bit
but the comfort she felt on her couch
remained the same

and so she stayed there

day after day after day
night after night after night

until the blinds stopped working
and the light
no longer filled the room

cobwebs stretched from lamp to table
trinkets now blanketed in dust
the book left open halfway
water long since evaporated from her glass

and the blue-gray wool blanket
draped across the couch
now nothing more than a moth’s haven

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Rachel Lahn
Inspiration piece

One Page to Fill a Life
By Stefanie A. Shilling
Response

some only get as far as the title
some a few stanzas

some empty every ink bottle
grind down every bit of lead

embedded hands from a grandfather clock
a grandmother’s broach

parts of a piccolo
like fossils burrowed in pulp

leaving no space untouched
drenched by the blackest night

leaving behind
the unmistakable patina of time

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Jennifer Fendya
“Alas, she loved them more”
Response

No Room Left For Me
By Stefanie A. Shilling
Inspiration piece

it started with a
few photos on the dresser
the record playing

knick-knacks filled the shelves
in came her dining table
place settings on lace

perfume filled the room
taking the air from my lungs
floors scream for relief

my shoes are still there
buried under fear, alas
I no longer fit

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Jennifer Fendya
“…an open gate”
Inspiration piece

Open Endings
By Stefanie A. Shilling
Response

she lived alone now

her children long grown
lured away to the bright lights of the big city
her husband resting in eternal peace
in the family cemetery

neighbors first showered her with
condolences and casseroles
now just the awkward
pleasantries at the post office

each morning, she walked
from the house to the main road
checking that the gate was still open
then she walked home, alone

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Stefanie A. Shilling
Inspiration piece

Dimpled
By Angi Lewis
Response

Dimpled
like goose pimples on flesh
like the bumps on a dog’s snout
where the whiskers sprout from
like the rind of an orange
or wedge of blue cheese
like the stippled sea
like the dented moon

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Note: All of the art, writing, and music on this site belongs to the person who created it. Copying or republishing anything you see here without express and written permission from the author or artist is strictly prohibited.

Angi Lewis
Inspiration piece

Handle with Care
By Stefanie A. Shilling
Response

it’s forever been true
that the land holds the sea
and there’s no truer feeling
than when your hands hold me

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Lisa Kilhefner
Response

She Will Sing
By Stefanie A. Shilling
Inspiration piece

speak not of ruby rivers
coursing through veins
they said

dare not light a candle
in a darkened room

hold your breath
while they wrap their fingers around
one by one
by one
by one
thumb upon carotid
in touch with their pulse, not yours

voices boom
from roots of great oaks
bubble up
from beds of deep seas

swallow the fire
again and again
growing the beast
inside your belly

there’s no taming an inferno

I’d rather burn my tongue
than bite it

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Lisa Kilhefner
Inspiration piece

How Far, How Deep
By Stefanie A. Shilling
Response

my naked eye
is blessed to see
so many stars
an umbrella over me

there are countless more
beyond my sight
knowing they exist
a mysterious delight

when my hands dare reach
for that faraway star
gravity holds
my feet to the fire

what would that star feel like
in my hand
against my skin
tucked in my shoe or back pocket
or pressed under my chin

the closest I’ve come
to knowing infinity
is looking out at the ocean
imagining beyond this vicinity

mmmm, the silence of space
the complete absence of sound
but it’s the rhythmic waves
that hold my feet to the ground

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Note: All of the art, writing, and music on this site belongs to the person who created it. Copying or republishing anything you see here without express and written permission from the author or artist is strictly prohibited.

Stephanie Ross
Response

The Magician’s Box
By Stefanie A. Shilling
Inspiration piece

climb in
lay yourself down
stretch

time stops
in the magician’s box

outside, the shiny tops spin
reflections glimmer
bouncing lights

then comes the first cut
make yourself smaller
to avoid getting hurt

bend your knees
pull them up to your chest
your feet are the first to go
you don’t need them to stand anymore

bury your face
or they will bury you whole

shrink yourself
to organs and bones and skin
folded and stacked
ever-so-neatly

because after all
you are magic too.

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Note: All of the art, writing, and music on this site belongs to the person who created it. Copying or republishing anything you see here without express and written permission from the author or artist is strictly prohibited.

Stephanie Ross
Inspiration piece

I SKINNED MY KNEE ON THE WAY TO PARIS
By Stefanie A. Shilling
Response

I skinned my knee on the way to Paris.
It wasn’t the bulging tree roots
outside the flower shop that tripped me up,
it was the buckets bursting with bouquets
of Butter Daisies and pink Canterbury Bells.
My sandaled foot bumped the base of the bucket
and thus began the slow-motion stumble
where my bare knees kissed the cobblestone.

I skinned my knee on the way to Paris.
It wasn’t the race through
the bustling terminal that tripped me up,
it was the passenger in seat 5D
with the size 10 Doc Martens jutted out into the aisle.
My size 5 canvas flats were no match
and thus began the slow-motion stumble
where my bare knees scraped the suitcase.

I skinned my knee on the way to Paris.
It wasn’t the hand-tufted rugs in the
extravagant hotel lobby that tripped me up,
it was the puddle of the cotton comforter
hanging off the corner of the bed.
My travel-weary feet tangled themselves
and thus began the slow-motion stumble
where my bare knees crashed into the carpet.

But now here I sit at the foot of the Eiffel Tower,
looking up and realizing:
after a lifetime of dreaming of this moment,
it’s time for a new dream.

My skinned knees are ready.

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Note: All of the art, writing, and music on this site belongs to the person who created it. Copying or republishing anything you see here without express and written permission from the author or artist is strictly prohibited.