Ally Ang’s Let the Moon Wobble (Alice James Books, 2025) is a timely poetry collection rich with bold reclamations of life from systems designed to harm. Ang’s unapologetic poetic voice is inspiring; they announce their queerness with the power of community behind every word, writing, “queer as in death to cops and politicians! / May they live their every waking moment / afraid of what the people will do to them” (47). The defiance throughout Let the Moon Wobble is a call to action for all; Ang asserts that the world can change for the better if we can imagine it, manifest it, and celebrate ourselves for all that we are and all that we have been through.

Let the Moon Wobble is organized into three sections with “Invocation” proceeding them. This poem’s first line is the title of the entire collection, and each subsequent line begins with “Let…” Ang here invites readers into a type of prayer, a summoning of what we need to heal, to be safe, to connect with the best parts of ourselves:

“Let the basil plant flower.

Let the poets discombobulate.

Let the verbs noun. Let the nouns verb.

Let the grief howl.” (1)

As a poet myself, I love the line above about allowing writers to be inventive with language, to take so-called standard grammatical rules as mere suggestions. Ang is reaching for a world where every single thing, big or small, is safe to be as it needs to be: the basil plant, the moon, the grief. Upon reading this poem, I was reminded of Walt Whitman’s “Transpositions,” a short poem in which he similarly calls for a reversal of power dynamics, of what is wrongfully accepted without enough resistance. “Invocation” ends on a repeated call for the people to be free, a notion asserted throughout the collection.

One of the most touching poems of the collection for me is “June 23, 1982,” dedicated to Vincent Chin, a Chinese-American man murdered by two white men who ended up not receiving any jail time. Ang starts the poem sweetly:

“Vincent shyly kissing his fiancée at the bar

egged on by his friends’ pillowing laughter

Vincent, face warm and aglow

after just two beers

Vincent, pulling a strand of her shiny black hair

off the sleeve of his coat and tucking it

into his breast pocket…” (18)

Words like pillowing and warm show that Vincent is safe, surrounded by loved ones and feeling loved. The small gesture of saving the hair strand, keeping it close to his heart, becomes more heartbreaking as we are guided towards the tragic end of the night. Ang foreshadows the darkness ahead for readers who have not skipped to the note section before proceeding to read “June 23, 1982” with the lines, “Vincent, mother’s only baby, assuring her / that this would be his last time going out” and how “it’s bad luck to say last time” (18). This poem serves as an elegiac ode to the life and goodness Vincent had, as well as a condemnation of the “good boys, / not the kind of men you send to jail” (19) and the racist and patriarchal systems designed to protect the few and enact violence on the many.

In their insistence on creativity, ingenuity, and joy, Ang employs a number of unique poetic forms as containers for sometimes heavy subject matter. For example, “Heartbreak Mad Libs” uses the form of the classic game to make space for possibility within a set script. Readers can fill in their own answers to categories such as “# of your lover’s hairs stuck in the shower drain,” “type of love you lacked in childhood,” and “the source of the light in your eyes” (37). Ang here is offering a tool for healing, for readers to walk into and through their own heartbreak, reaching hope on the other side. “The Truth Is” is a multiple choice poem, similarly giving readers, and themself as poet, space to explore and invite options. The truth does not need to be one thing, Ang seemingly asserts; it can change over time, it is different from person to person, etc. Other poem titles like “Quars Poetica” and “Owed to My Father’s Accent” are playful with craft words; ars poetica is queered, an ode is combined with reverence and due credit.

In the penultimate poem, “You Deserve the World,” Ang writes,

“The world has ended before,

and before and before, and for some, there was

no after. We have watched its rind cracking open

like a freshly-broken heart, and each time

            we build and rebuild.” (61)

I see echoes here of Franny Choi’s The World Keeps Ending, The World Goes On, and of the afro-futurist notion that the apocalypse has already happened. Despite this reality, Ang is a part of the survival; they are a part of the continued living, full of desire, hope, joy, culture, energy, and strength. The title phrase “you deserve the world” is an affirmation that we have every right to live, to be our full selves, and to enjoy a safe world, including all of its pleasures, treasures, and wonders.

Let the Moon Wobble is a brilliant debut collection I encourage all readers of contemporary poetry to get their hands on. Ang’s words act as an invitation to incite joy, a decree of justice, a celebration of queerness, and a mastering of poetic voice amidst a large variety of form. In “The Moon, Abstracted,” Ang writes, “From Palestine / to West Papua, from Puerto Rico / to Hawai’i, from Congo to Sudan, / from the river to the sea. / …  / May every / oppressed tongue know the taste / of water, honey, freedom, freedom” (10). I firmly stand with Ang in this call for freedom, safety, and nourishment for all. As Ang invokes, may we see this come to fruition in our lifetimes.

Let the Moon Wobble is available from Alice James Books

---

Livia Meneghin (she/her) is the author of feathering and Honey in My Hair. She is Cofounder and Managing Editor at Two Cardinals Literary. At Sundress Publications, she serves as Assistant Chapbook Editor. Livia has been awarded recognition from the Academy of American Poets, Breakwater Review, The Room Magazine, the City of Boston, and elsewhere. Since earning her MFA in poetry, she teaches writing and literature at the collegiate level. 

Gee follows a trail of breadcrumb memories back through her adolescence and into her childhood, arriving at an explanation for her conversion to Catholicism in adulthood. With the precision of an academic historian, Gee sifts through her past as she contemplates where her pull to the divine originated:

“It’s hard not to wonder if there was a single moment that set me on my way to becoming a person of faith. This calling surprised me with its suddenness and vigor, and then with how quickly it became an anchor in our lives…My conversion, which was always a process and never a point in time, felt new and familiar, an aspiring toward a more expansive self, but one I ultimately recognized.” (Gee 50)

This “ultimate recognition” of a new aspect of the self becomes a North Star in Gee’s journey through Catholic conversion. 

So, too, does the Church community that she names as the main reason she stays in her parish, despite the long and bureaucratic road to official conversion. The people in her church validate a long-overlooked part of herself: “Perhaps I finally recognized my spirituality once I could see it in others, in the same way I recognize myself in the features and gestures of my daughters” (Gee 71). This observation is one of many moments in this collection linking Gee’s conversion process to an exploration of family and what we pass down to our children. As an adoptee from Taiwan, Gee felt constant pressure from her Cantonese parents to show her gratitude by erasing her own desires – especially any related to learning about her birth family. Instead, she attempted to piece together her identity through the heritage her parents relayed to her inconsistently, in scraps of “smoke” and “paper”.

Torn between a desire for her child to assimilate seamlessly into America and a need to keep Chinese traditions alive, Gee’s mother served as the curator of a new kind of family history. Gee detailed her tenuous position:

“My mom is Chinese until she is not. She must do figures in her head in Cantonese; she must eat rice with every meal, fearfully appease ancestors, and call my husband American, but never herself and never me. Until she visits China after forty-five years of living in America and is told that her clothes and hair and speech and posture are all unmistakably foreign. Until she is interviewed by an adoption agency and must, against all her Chinese sensibilities, express her longing for a child.” (Gee 55)

Gee’s writing shines in these heartwrenching remembrances of her parents. She later describes one of her mother’s favorite stories: of how, during the famine caused by the Cultural Revolution in China, her mother (around age 10 at the time) cried when she had no fish to eat for dinner. Gee’s grandmother threatened to leave the home, and Gee’s mother promised to never complain again. Gee describes how her mother, re-traumatized, told this story compulsively and frenetically, in a “flood” through which a young Gee held steady. Gee inherited her mother’s trauma, internalizing as a child that “good mothers threatened their children…to keep their daughters from wanting what they cannot have” (Gee 123). Gee reckons with the lofty expectations placed upon her from a young age through her parents also wanting what they could not have: a biological child that they tried to conceive in vain for over a decade. She “…sometimes imagine[s] [her] parents sitting down to a meal they have waited fourteen years for, starved beyond hunger and unable to believe their agony will finally end” (Gee 156). Emotional and physical hunger are evocatively rendered across time and space – from the liturgies of takeout from her grandfather’s restaurant to the stress associated with feeding an entire extended family. Unmet hunger as a representation of generational immigrant trauma is one of the most memorable, and powerful, motifs of this collection.

As an adult, Gee makes sense of the trauma in a monumental loss of culture, an enormous grief of immigration, through the language of Catholicism. Specifically, the ritual of initiation welcomes one’s new self into the Catholic church, honoring the struggles of separating from what is familiar in order to return with a deeper knowledge of the self (Michael Meade; Gee 99). She writes: “My family’s immigration is a kind of incomplete initiation—unending separation compounded with the absence of a society to return to” (Gee 99). In translating her family’s generational trauma into a newly intelligible language, Gee guides the reader through her parallel journeys of healing and conversion.

I was, and am, stunned by the tenderness Gee writes with, and holds for those who have hurt her. We Carry Smoke and Paper invites us to look more closely at the ashes we have been handed, thank those who placed them in our palms, and decide, ultimately, what we would like to keep.

Order your copy today!

---

Catie Macauley (they/he/she) is a transmasculine aspiring poet living and working in Boston. They study Sociology, Environmental Studies, and English at Wellesley College, where they also compete on the Wellesley Whiptails frisbee team and perform with the Wellesley Shakespeare Society. A Best of the Net 2024 Nominee, his writing has appeared in brawl lit, The Wellesley News, and the Young Writer’s Project, among other publications. In their free time, Catie enjoys boxing, re-reading A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and buying far too many books at independent bookstores – primarily the Grolier Poetry Bookshop, where they are somehow lucky enough to work.

This month our editorial intern Marian Kohng interviews Tyler Hurula on her poetry collection Too Pretty for Plain Coffee. The collection explores themes of self-love, polyamory, queerness, and never apologizing for being too much. It’s a heartwarming collection and the perfect read for these frigid winter days.

Marian Kohng: What is the significance of the recurring theme of coffee and its role compared to tea and wine?

Tyler Hurula: I grew up in the Mormon church, where coffee was prohibited. Coffee has since become an indulgence, and every time I drink coffee it almost feels like I’m getting away with something. I live for seasonal coffee flavors, and adding something fun to make it extra indulgent. The title Too Pretty for Plain Coffee came from visiting a friend. I was curling my hair and getting frustrated with how much time I was taking to get ready to head out for the day, and told my friend I needed coffee. They offered to make me coffee, and I jokingly told them “I’m too pretty for plain coffee” and it just stuck. Wine also feels indulgent to me. Almost like dressing up drinking, because in my head wine is what you drink if you’re trying to be fancy about it. In the book, a partner is the one drinking tea. They don’t need it to be fancified or add extra flavors or special milk, but they see and love me for all the ways I’m “extra.”

MK: What is your process of deciding how to format certain poems and the intentionality of them to convey your message, such as in “Are You Just Being Nice, or Are We In Love?” and “One More”?

TH: Playing with the format of the poems in Too Pretty for Plain Coffee was so much fun for me. Previously, I struggled with formatting, and was determined to step out of my comfort stanzas with this book. “Are You Just Being Nice, or Are We In Love” is written as a multiple-choice quiz because of the sapphic nature of the relationship. In my experience connecting with other queer folks, a common experience in sapphic dating is wondering if someone is actually into you, or if they’re just being nice. It was my idea of not wanting to assume romantic intent, and almost a callback to slipping someone a note in elementary school saying, “Do you like me? Check yes or no.”

In “One More” I was expressing the loss of a relationship, and playing with the tension in perseverating on what would happen if there was just ‘one more’ kiss or loving gesture. Would that change anything? Would that person come back? Would they realize they missed out? It was me trying to hold onto this relationship and this person, even though they left. The repetition of “one more” in varying shades of gray are meant to represent the fading feelings as time passes. Even after those feelings have faded, something can trigger them again and revive them. I’ve often reflected on different “lasts”, and how/if things would be different if we knew it was the last time we got to kiss someone, or talk to someone on the phone, or share a meal with someone. If only I got to kiss that person one more time, would it have felt final? Could I get closure?

MK: Tell me more about the role of lipstick in your poems and the message behind intentional lipstick prints versus unintentional lipstick smudges?

TH: The more I’ve gotten to be comfortable in my own self, the more I’ve let myself love the things I love. Bright pink lipstick is one of those things and has become a staple for me. I’ve spent a lot of time and energy finding lipsticks that don’t leave residue or stains, and even the best ones still aren’t perfect. When you do start stepping into your full self more, not everyone is going to like it, and some people are going to miss the versions of you they imagined you might stay as. I am going to wear the lipstick, and I am going to be myself regardless of who likes it or doesn’t, and sometimes I might get lipstick on something I shouldn’t, or I might be too loud, or too direct, or too messy, but I’m choosing myself regardless.

MK: What did you wish to deliver through the personification in your poems, whether it is the personification of periods, anniversary cards, or being too much, and how do they relate to love for oneself?

TH: In the opening poem of the book, “I’ve Only Been Told I’m Hard to Read by People I Don’t Like,” there is a line that says, “I personified my ‘too much’ in a poem to separate myself from the reason people have left me.” Personification is one of my favorite ways to engage in poetry. Sometimes things are just too close to be able to see clearly, especially when there is a judgement attached to them. In my poem “I AM TOO MUCH FOR MOST”, I do personify my “too much” and I was able to decide how my ‘too much’ shows up in the world. I made it something outside of myself, which allowed me to learn how to love it.

I talk about polyamory in this book, which has a lot of stigma around it. In “Polyamory from the Perspective of an Anniversary Card” I’m able to address many of the negative comments I’ve gotten for being polyamorous in a way that felt accessible and not focused on any specific person. I wanted to be able to reach people that may have these negative ideas and beliefs about polyamory in a way that wasn’t accusatory, but invited them into my perspective.

As an AFAB person, I grew up being taught not to talk about my period. It is a “gross” and personal thing. I want to de-stigmatize talking about our bodies and what better way to do that than to give my period its own voice? We have so much to gain from talking about these types of things that are “taboo” or things we’re supposed to keep to ourselves like periods, polyamory, and queerness.

MK: Can you speak to me about the juxtaposition between the feelings of love and heartbreak in “Schrödinger’s Heart” and the role of this juxtaposition throughout the whole collection?

TH: “Schrödinger’s Heart” is about dating as a polyamorous person, which can be complicated when you’re breaking up with one person but still totally in love with someone else. Having those big feelings is a lot, especially when trying to navigate them at the same time. In my poem “I Can’t Love Anyone Into Loving Me,” I realize that by loving and caring about people, I could be a tender magician, even if some of those people choose not to love me back. When you date more people, there is more of a potential for heartbreak. I think choosing to love in spite of that is a really brave thing.

MK: What did you wish to convey by redacting certain parts of the letters in “Erasure Poem from a Card I Found in my Underwear Drawer” and “Letters to Ex-Lovers, Ending in One for Myself”?

TH: “Erasure Poem from a Card I Found in my Underwear Drawer” was so fun to play with. It is in direct conversation with the poem “While Cleaning Out My Underwear Drawer I Wondered When all my Underwear Became Period Underwear.” I’ve learned that I am not for everyone, and not everyone is going to love me and that’s okay. Sometimes we do just survive someone and learn more about ourselves on the other end. I think sometimes people survive us as well—even when we don’t mean to cause harm. In the past, I’ve chosen to be in relationships that don’t serve me because I want so badly to be loved. “Letters to Ex-Lovers, Ending in One for Myself” is a reminder that I will always be in a relationship with myself, and I get to choose what that looks like, and I don’t just want to survive myself.

MK: Can you speak about how you decided to structure the collection overall and start with the first poem, “I’ve Only Been Told I’m Hard to Read by People I Don’t Like,” and end it with the last poem, “Self Portrait as Someone to Love”?

TH: I started with “I’ve Only Been Told I’m Hard to Read by People I Don’t Like” because I felt like it was a good introduction to me. This whole book is about being too much—whether it’s because I’m queer, polyamorous, bisexual, a woman, etc. I wanted to explore what being “too much” looks like for me specifically, and how it manifests in my life. I wanted it to be earnest and endearing. I think parts of that poem are funny. I wanted the poem to be an invitation and a plea to see me.

The book was originally called “The Polyamory Breakup Bible,” but when I put all my poems together and read through it, I realized it was more of a love letter to myself and the parts of myself I’ve been told are “too much.” The poems in the beginning of the book are more about how other people see me. Many of the poems in the middle of the book focus on other people—they’re breakup poems, yearning poems, love poems. The end of the book is about my relationship with myself and learning to embrace all parts of me. I wanted to begin and end with myself because ultimately, I’m the only person who is stuck with me, and I’m not here to perform for anyone but myself.

MK: What is the main message you want readers to take away from your collection when experiencing the different shades of love for oneself and others?

TH: There are so many ways to love and be in relationships with ourselves and our family, friends, romantic partners, and everyone in between. Too Pretty for Plain Coffee is an invitation to explore the parts of ourselves that have been deemed unworthy, either internally or externally, and challenge them. What if the thing I’ve been told to hate about myself was actually one of the most loving and endearing things about me? What if this thing I’ve been told makes me unlovable is what someone loves most about me? Is it something I can learn to love about myself? Choosing to love and celebrate ourselves and the people in our communities is one of the most radical and brave things we can do in a world that thrives and profits from hate and division.

Too Pretty for Plain Coffee is available through Wayfarer Press & Magazine

---

Tyler Hurula (she/they), also known as the Pretty Pink Poet, is a poet and explorer based in Denver, Colorado. She started writing poetry at the beginning of the pandemic because she decided she needed a hobby and saw Megan Falley’s workshop “Poems That Don’t Suck” and decided to give it a try. They have since fallen in love with poetry and strive to build and grow a poetry community in the Denver Metro area. She strives to be the most queer and polyamorous person they can be and much of her poetry reflects these themes.

Their first full-length poetry collection is published through Wayfarer Books, released in April 2025. They have a poetry chapbook published with Querencia Press titled Love Me Louder and have multiple poems published in Gnashing Teeth Publishing, Fiery Scribe Review, South Broadway Press, Last Leaves Magazine, and more. Her poems have been nominated for the 2023 Best of the Net award, and the 2023 Pushcart Prize.

They host a monthly queer poetry open mic night, and facilitate poetry writing workshops.

Marian Kohng (she/her/hers) is a proud Korean American and an Editorial Intern at Sundress Publications and a Traffic Copy Editor at a local news station in Tucson, AZ. She also has a Bachelor’s in Neuroscience and Cognitive Science and a Master’s in Marketing. She loves to get lost in a good book and will read just about anything, including the back of the shampoo bottle.

LIZZY: The Elizabeth Keckley Story, from bondage to becoming America’s first couturière (2025) threads fact and fiction into a genre-bending ode to the perseverance of African Americans. Evelyn G. Nuyda, formerly writing under the penname C. Georgina C., conducts readers’ attention with a maestro’s precision, contrasting gravity and levity in a delicate, honest balance. With genuine characters and undeniable history, Nuyda’s retelling of Elizabeth Keckley’s story shimmers like the finest silk, demanding attention elegantly and proving wholly worthy of it.

A summer day in 1932 Harlem witnesses the silent unveiling of buried history at the hands of Reverend Stansil. Finding a book tucked in the late church founder Reverend William Crowdy’s attic, Stansil discovers the story of a woman obscured by history’s biased hands, a story beginning nearly one hundred and fifteen years to his day.

In February of 1818, in Dinwiddie County, Virginia, Elizabeth’s first breaths tie her to a cruel life of bondage. Born to Agnes Hobbs, her enslaved mother, and Master Burwell, her biological father, Elizabeth enters a life predetermined for her. In an unforgiving world, persevering love and daring hope soothe Elizabeth’s heart; and so begins her long journey, from a young enslaved girl in Virginia to the free couturière of the First Lady.

Nuyda’s characters pop off the page like brocade, rich and alive, with a tenacity that is incredibly human. Their dynamic nature captures readers’ hearts with grace, connecting them across time and place. Of the most prominent characterizations is unsurprisingly Elizabeth’s. Her endurance in a world vying to break her is boldly captured in her persistence to appreciate beauty amidst the monstrosites and dismissals:

“Where she saw drapery too faded for its place in a proper Southern parlor, I saw silk that still gleamed softly in the right light. Where she saw fabric meant to be discarded, I saw the makings of a gown.” (Nuyda, 66)

In injecting the narrative with Elizabeth’s artistic noticings, Nuyda cements her characterization as a dressmaker long before she ever becomes one. As she finally achieves her dream, the reader arrives with her at her destination with complete faith.

Another glowing aspect of the book is the relationships between characters; whether harsh or tender, the dynamics seize the reader’s attention with a mix of realism and dramatic aptitude. The dynamic between Elizabeth—or “Lizzy” as her mother’s husband, George Hobbs, affectionately called her—and her parents, Agnes and George, is one as delicate and intricate as lace. There’s a staggering awareness of the harshness of servitude, contrasted with her mother’s beauty and bravery and George’s tenderness and unwavering love through the forced separation of their family.

From stolen moments where Agnes risked her life to teach Lizzy how to read—“Every stolen moment was spent with my mother quietly guiding my hands across pages of the books she had kept hidden; books she had learned from, even before I was born…” (Nuyda, 26)—to the bittersweet, short-lived reunion of George and his family—“In one swift, unforgiving breath, it became the last time I would see my father, the last time his lips would brush my forehead, the last time I would feel his warmth” (39)—every emotion is heightened and cleverly utilized to reflect the world the characters live in as much as their own dynamics.

Though fleeting on the page, the secondary characters are equally memorable. Albert, an eleven year old enslaved boy, charms readers with his artistry and prevailing innocence. Others like Little Joe and his mother seize readers’ hearts with the heartaching polarity of maternal love in the face of a callous dealing separating him from her:

“There was something about the way she dressed him that caught my breath, something that spoke of loss before the first breath…His boots were battered, worn to near ruin, but she had polished them until they shone like the morning. And the laces, though frayed at the ends,were tied with the kind of care that made them whole again, made them worthy of him, worthy of the beautiful boy he was.” (Nuyda, 44)

Through an equally humanistic portrayal of the Lincolns, Nuyda reinvents historical political figures, delving into their grief and their joy, and it is through that method that she bridges the perceived gap, portraying unity in its rawest form. Matters of race blanch in the face of the human experience as Lizzy holds a grieving Mary Lincoln, as Abraham Lincoln plays with goats.  

Despite the historical focus of the book, it is not lacking in relatability. The themes around fashion within offer both introspective and societal commentary on the power of clothes and their role in society, especially for women. In the same vein, Nuyda utilizes dressmaking as a gateway to probing at women’s complex lives in the tangled web of history, race, and freedom.

With its first person narration, LIZZY (2025) embodies the spirit of a memoir packaged in the cloth of historical fiction, immersing readers in a story so honest, it radiates with the authenticity of a true autobiography. Nuyda’s dressmaking expertise and research shine through the book’s fashion nuances, underscoring the frank storytelling with undeniable notes of beauty and wisdom that linger beyond the last page. Now being adapted into a play, readers can expect LIZZY ’s theatrical debut in LA in Spring 2026.

Find out more about LIZZY on the official website

---

Tassneem Abdulwahab (she/her) is an aspiring writer and editor with a BA (Hons) Creative and Professional Writing from UWE Bristol. With a strong interest in culture, history, and psychology and a love for fiction, her writing often draws on one or more of these threads to tell character-centric stories. Trained in oil painting, she exhibited and sold two portrait paintings in February 2025. In her free time, you can find her buying more books (no, seriously—she owns four editions of Little Women), snapping pictures of the little details, or sitting at her easel.

The Sundress Academy for the Arts is excited to present Poetry Xfit hosted by Livia Meneghin. This generative workshop event will take place on Sunday, March 29th, from 2 to 4 pm EST via Zoom. Join us at the link tiny.utk.edu/sundress with the password “safta”.

Poetry Xfit isn’t about throwing tires or heavy ropes, but the idea of confusing our muscles is the same. You will receive ideas, guidelines, and more as part of this generative workshop series in order to complete three poems in two hours. A new set of prompts will be provided after the writers have written collaboratively for thirty minutes. The goal is to create material that can be later modified and transformed into artwork rather than producing flawless final versions. The event is open to prose authors as well!

Livia Meneghin (she/her) is the author of two chapbooks: Honey in My Hair and feathering. She has been awarded recognition from The Academy of American Poets, Breakwater Review, The Room Magazine, the Writers’ Room of Boston, the City of Boston, and elsewhere. Her writing has found homes in Colorado Review, CV2, Gasher, The Journal, Osmosis, and Thrush, among others. Since earning her MFA in Poetry, she teaches writing and literature at the collegiate level and is the Sundress Reads Editor. She is a cancer survivor.

This event is brought to you in part by grants provided by the Tennessee Arts Commission. 

While this is a free event, donations can be made to the Sundress Academy for the Arts here.

The Sundress Academy for the Arts is excited to present “Writing the Women We Were Warned About: Monstrous Feminine and Superstition in Poetry,” a workshop led by Ariadne Makridakis Arroyo on Wednesday, March 11th from 6:00-7:30 PM EST. This event will be held over Zoom. Participants can access the event at tiny.utk.edu/sundress (password: SAFTA).

Superstitions shape the way we learn about danger, identity, and belonging, but they also tell us who we’re allowed to be. In this generative poetry workshop, we’ll explore the stories and sayings we grew up with: from playful warnings to cultural myths meant to guide or socially condition us. We’ll focus on Latin American monstrous women like La Siguanaba and La Ciguapa, specifically on their folklore and their defiance of gender expectations. What happens when you become the woman you’ve been warned about?

While there is no fee to participate in this workshop, those who are able and appreciative may make donations directly to via PayPal: ariadnemakridakis@gmail.com

Born and raised by Greek and Guatemalan immigrants, Ariadne Makridakis Arroyo is a Los Angeles-based writer, arts administrator, and feminista who grew up in New Orleans, Louisiana. Their work has been featured in Stellium Literary Magazine, Stonecoast Review, Latin@ Literatures, Tasteful Rude, and Acentos Review. In 2023, they were awarded a speculative fiction fellowship with Roots. Wounds. Words. and were named the 2025 LGBTQIA+ residency fellow with the Sundress Academy for the Arts. Currently, Ariadne’s work centers queer, feminist, and Latine perspectives in a way that explores the crossroads of radical joy, sexuality, brujería, and ancestral healing.

This event is brought to you by a grant provided by the Tennessee Arts Commission.

I tend to view myself in phases of my life: the little girl, too full of curiosity and oddly shaped clothes. The preteen who is suddenly, deeply aware of the fact that she exists in this world and other people can see her. The teen who shrunk quite like Alice did when she drank the bottle labeled “drink me” and cried herself into something that can fit through a keyhole or door’s mouth. The sickly 21-year-old celebrating legality with a new medication infusion instead of sugared-up vodka. The now adult who wants to believe she finally is figuring things out, but has found that the version she wishes to be is still quite the opposite of the soft spoken sweet silhouette of a body that my brain follows around.

There are a lot of labels I can fit myself into. I am an INFJ. I am a Libra. I’m an Enneagram 4w5. I love taking obscure personality quizzes that give me even more labels. I think it’s because I’m still figuring out how I perceive myself. Maybe I can’t quite tell you who I am, but I can tell you what is real about my life and my death.

I am going to die. Well, my liver is. But technically speaking yours will too. We all die. But when I was fifteen I was diagnosed with a rare degenerative liver disease called Primary Sclerosing Cholangitis. A mouth full, I know. It’s PSC for short, and while I could use this space to write an academic paper on the medical ins and outs of this disease, all that really matters is there’s no cure, no treatment, and it kills. It’s been hard not to let something so massively life changing not leak into every aspect of my identity. I am a woman, and I am sick. I am a student, and I am ill. I am a daughter, and I have to be cared for. I am a girlfriend, and I feel like a burden. Everywhere I turn there is a reflection that says I am dying a lot faster than you are.

Being diagnosed with such a scary illness makes an existentialism speed-run quite possible in a few short years. Who am I if I am not alive? What do I want to do for a living? What is the purpose of working towards anything if I might not live to see the fulfillment of it? Does my cat love me the way I love him? What is the point of writing these words for you to read? What is writing? How much longer do I have left? How is my brain reading and writing at the same time? When is my next dose? My next doctor’s appointment?

This line of dreadful thinking is just as degenerative as my disease state. I didn’t want to become a victim to my illness. I know I will die, but so will all of us. The real victory is not letting it destroy and consume what I have left of life. After my parents’ divorce, I found myself more motivated than ever to become something greater than the damaged goods my body left me in. So who am I if not this sick girl?

I’m not quite sure if I should explain what I want to be, what I think I am, who my peers see me as, my Mom’s opinion that makes me, her “tweet pea,” out to be a princess with a sword and book in hand. (Hi, Mom. I know you’re reading this, I love you.) Or maybe my Dad’s version of me that probably includes the words “demonic” “disrespectful” and or “evil”. (Yes, unfortunately, I’m so serious. And no, don’t worry, I am not in contact with him.) What do they say? Everyone is the villain in someone else’s story? Something like that. I think somehow I am all of these versions of myself. I’m still the little girl with her ducky blanky. I am still the boyish kid running to catch up to my older brother and his friends. I am most definitely the very strange child who proudly wore the shirt with a puffy paint drawing of her cat wearing a crown like everyday of fifth grade. I am a teacher to small children and also a student myself. I am quite the introvert, but I get very bold and very loud when I feel that anyone might need me or there is even the slightest sort of injustice. I am always looking for something new to learn about. I still love cats. I am chronically ill, and I am going to die. But since I am still here, you must endure these words. It is a privilege to even be able to consider what I am and how you might think of me. Therefore, I would like to reduce myself to the only thing which allows me to be all of this: alive.

---

Are you looking to submit your latest poem, piece of fiction or nonfiction, or artwork to one of the exceptional undergraduate journals in the country? Look no further than the following list!

1. 30 North

30 North is the national undergraduate literary journal of North Central College in Naperville, Illinois. 30 North publishes undergraduate poetry, fiction, non-fiction, and artwork in their annual print journal. They also publish author interviews and reviews conducted and written by their staff online. Currently taking submissions!

2. The Albion Review

The Albion Review is a national undergraduate literary journal based out of Albion College in Albion, Michigan. The Review publishes works of short fiction, poetry, creative nonfiction, and visual art on an annual basis. Submissions currently closed.

3. Applause

Applause is a national literary arts and culture magazine housed at the University of Arkansas -Fort Smith open for submissions from undergraduates around the world. They publish poetry, fiction, essays, and art. Submissions for Spring 2026 close February 16, 2026!

4. The Blank Quill

The Blank Quill is a digital literary magazine focused on platforming BIPOC and LGBTQ+ writers. Submissions for Spring 2026 issue close February 28, 2026!

5. The Blue Route

The Blue Route is an international literary journal for undergraduate writers based out of Widener University in Chester, Pennsylvania. They publish works of poetry, fiction, creative non-fiction, and artwork biannually. Currently closed for submissions, next submission window will open in August.

6. Collision Literary Magazine

Collision Literary Magazine is an international literary journal for undergraduate writers and is housed at the University of Pittsburgh in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. They publish works of poetry, fiction, creative non-fiction, and artwork annually. Submissions close February 15, 2026!

7. Dark River Review

Dark River Review is the national undergraduate literary journal of Alabama State University in Montgomery, Alabama. They publish works of short fiction, poetry, creative nonfiction, and visual art on an annual basis. Currently accepting submissions!

8. Echo Literary Review

Echo Review is a literary magazine devoted to history, whether that be a past relative or the Napoleonic wars. The are a proud champion of young, marginalized, and otherwise systematically disadvantaged writers. While history has a tendency to favor certain groups over others, Echo takes great pride in being an active advocate in closing these gaps. Currently closed for submissions.

9. Eclipse Literary Magazine

Eclipse is a literary magazine that celebrates the power of creativity in all its forms, including visual art, prose, poetry, essays, and music. Our mission is to showcase user submissions in a space where diverse voices and artistic expression can shine. Whether through words or images, we aim to foster a community that values and uplifts creativity in all its depths. Currently accepting submissions!

10. Equinox Literary Magazine

Equinox Literary Magazine is a national undergraduate literary magazine based out of the University of Arkansas in Little Rock, Arkansas. They publish works of fiction, poetry, hybrid writing, short screenplays, and visual art annually. They also host the David Jauss Fiction Prize and the Jo McDougall Poetry Prize each year. Currently accepting submissions!

11. Furrow

Furrow is the national undergraduate literary journal of the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. They publish a print issue each spring and feature new work on their website regularly. They accept unpublished poetry, fiction, nonfiction, art, and comics. Submissions close February 27, 2026.

12. Glass Mountain

Glass Mountain is an undergraduate literary journal at the University of Houston in Houston, Texas. They accept previously unpublished fiction, creative nonfiction, poetry, art, and everything in between on an annual basis. Currently accepting submissions!

13. Green Blotter Literary Magazine

Green Blotter Literary Magazine is a literary magazine produced by undergraduate students at Lebanon Valley College in Annville, Pennsylvania. They publish works of poetry, fiction, creative non-fiction, and artwork on an annual basis. Currently accepting submissions!

14. Inscape

Inscape is an international literary magazine published at Washburn University in Topeka, Kansas. They publish unpublished fiction, poetry, creative nonfiction, and visual art annually. Submissions will reopen on August 1, 2026.

15. The Kudzu Review

The Kudzu Review is the national undergraduate literary journal of Florida State University in Tallahassee, Florida. The Review publishes works of short fiction, poetry, creative nonfiction, and visual art biannually. Accepting submissions until March 27, 2026!

16. Mistake House

Mistake House is Principia College’s digital literary journal for students and professional writers and artists. Based in Elsah, Illinois, they publish works of poetry, fiction, and artwork on an annual basis. Mistake House also offers three Editor’s Prizes of $100 each year: one for fiction, one for poetry, and one for photography. Submissions open until March 15, 2026.

17. Mosaic Art & Literary Journal

Mosaic is the University of California, Riverside’s undergraduate literary journal. In 1959, Mosaic began as a small group of poets, and they’re still going strong nearly 60 years later, having expanded into a home for all writers, musicians, and artists. They are completely undergraduate-run, and publish one volume of prose, poetry, and art every year. Currently taking submissions!

18. Outrageous Fortune

Outrageous Fortune is the first online literary magazine created for undergraduates by undergraduates. Based out of Mary Baldwin University in Staunton, Virginia, Outrageous Fortune publishes works of poetry, fiction, nonfiction, film, and visual art in their issues. Currently taking submissions! The deadline to submit for Volume 16 is March 31, 2026.

19. Polaris Literary Magazine

Polaris Literary Magazine is the national undergraduate journal of arts and literature at Ohio Northern University located in Ada, Ohio. They publish works of poetry, fiction, non-fiction, and visual art on an annual basis. Currently closed for submissions.

20. Prairie Margins

Prairie Margins is a national undergraduate literary journal based out of Bowling Green State University in Bowling Green, Ohio. Prairie Margins publishes poetry, fiction, creative nonfiction, art, and photography. Currently taking submissions!

21. Red Cedar Review

Red Cedar Review is the longest-running undergraduate publication in the United States. Housed at Michigan State University in East Lansing, Michigan, Red Cedar Review publishes works of fiction, nonfiction, poetry, and art every two years. Accepting submissions August 1st – October 15th, 2026.

22. Runestone

Runestone is a national undergraduate literary journal housed at Hamline University in Saint Paul, Minnesota. They accept unpublished works of fiction, creative nonfiction, poetry, and digital storytelling. Accepting submissions April 1st – October 1st of each year.

23. Sink Hollow

Sink Hollow is an international undergraduate literary magazine based out of Utah State University in Logan, Utah. They publish works of fiction, poetry, hybrid writing, short screenplays, and visual art annually. Submissions are open until March 31, 2026!

24. Short Vine

Short Vine is the international undergraduate literary journal of the University of Cincinnati in Cincinnati, Ohio. They publish works of poetry, fiction, non-fiction, and photography on an annual basis. Currently closed for submissions.

25. Violet Marginz

Violet Marginz, formerly The Alchemist Review, is a national undergraduate literary journal from the University of Illinois-Springfield. They publish prose, creative nonfiction, translation, poetry, and visual arts annually. Submissions close February 20, 2026.

26. Quirk

Quirk is the Literary and Visual Arts journal of the University of the Incarnate Word in San Antonio, Texas.
They are entirely run by student-editors seeking to give artists a creative outlet to showcase their talents on a national scale. They are looking for originality and authenticity: poets, creative writers, and visual artists. Currently closed to submissions, will reopen again in Spring 2026.

27. The Oakland

The Oakland Arts Review is an international undergraduate literary and arts journal out of Oakland University in Rochester Hills, Michigan. Their ambition is to become one of the most prominent literary journals publishing undergraduate writers throughout the world. Currently taking submissions!

28. The Allegheny Review

The Allegheny Review, in print since 1983, is the oldest national undergraduate literary magazine in the United States dedicated exclusively to undergraduate works of poetry, fiction, creative nonfiction. Published annually, the periodical showcases some of the best literature the nation’s undergraduates have to offer. The magazine is and always has been edited and produced by students at Allegheny College. The Allegheny Review considers submissions from undergraduate writers year-round. Currently taking submissions!

29. The Sucarnichee Review

Established in 1974 and named for the Sucarnochee River that runs near the University of West Alabama, The Sucarnochee Review is published annually by the University’s Department of English and History. They are student-led and student-edited and believe strongly in the value of amplifying student voices. They accept submissions year round. Currently taking submissions!

30. The Tower

The Tower is a student-run literary magazine at the University of Minnesota Twin Cities. They publish fiction, nonfiction, poetry, visual art, and hybrid works. Their annual print edition comes out in the spring, and they accept submissions in the fall of every year. Currently closed for submissions.

Right from the first page of Roseanne Freed’s Your Name Is a Poem (Picture Show Press, 2024), the theme of motherhood takes over the page, as does the importance of names. This poetry collection is written from the point of view of a parent and the grief process of losing their child to cancer. Freed captures the full arc of motherhood, from the joy of naming a child to the ache of loving and letting go. Centered around a daughter named Mahalia, the poems explores motherly devotion, identity, sibling relationships, and family resilience. Throughout these poems, we readers see the mother trying to grasp any piece of her daughter in all of the memories that she has with her, starting from childbirth and as she grew older. 

The first poem, also the title poem, gives readers a first glimpse of the daughter and the power that the name Mahalia holds for the Freed: “Before you were born, / I knew you were someone special / and needed a unique name; / there are too many girls called / Jennifer, Jessica, or Jane” (Freed 1). As we continue to read, the poem “Our Time Together, Too Short” reads like a lyrical biography, tracing Mahalia’s growth from a baby to a selfless adult. Mahalia’s choice to bike to chemotherapy appointments shows readers her strength and values. The final line, “I loved her even when I didn’t love her” (Freed 5), encapsulates the various elements of parenting: unconditional love, complex emotions, and the pain of watching a child suffer. Freed includes bits of her memories with her daughter right from the moment she gave birth:

From these memories that the speaker decides to share with us, we learn about Mahalia’s experiences through the mother’s lens, the emotions she goes through and how she must keep herself together for her daughter’s sake. 

Different from the previous poems, “A Fearful Thing” shifts the voice to second person, as if Freed is speaking directly to her daughter. In doing so, Freed uses “you” to capture the last conversation that mother and daughter had together before Mahalia passes. Food tends to be a source of comfort during times of grief and struggle. The mother is holding onto this last moment by using a bowl of lentil soup, a dish that now holds such deep meaning. The first stanza of the poem illustrates the warmness of food and how it brings this family together as the speaker says, “A pot of my lentil soup, / our staple meal through the Canadian / winters of your childhood” (Freed 10). In the last stanzas of this poem, Freed writes:

The poetic voice is that of someone who has loved deeply and is now left with the unbearable silence after goodbye. A theme that stuck out to me in this poem is the simplicity of soup. Freed begins “A Fearful Thing” with the line, “Soup, I thought…” (10). This leap from diagnosis to the feeling of home, thinking of soup, encapsulates a mother’s instinct to comfort, nourish, and do something. The lentil soup, which is a staple from childhood, becomes a symbol of continuity, maternal love, and later, unspoken resentment. 

In Your Name Is a Poem, we see a pain that the daughter projects onto her mother through anger. In the poem, “A Week After She Left Us My Therapist Told Me,” the mother seeks help to grieve through her daughter’s loss, but still her daughter’s pain and range from her battle of cancer still finds ways to show up in this grieving process. This poem is shorter compared to the other ones but holds a lot of power. The poem’s length directly mirrors the emotional state of the speaker: raw, constrained, and filled with unresolved tension, each word having weight. The mother/speaker finds it difficult to experience the emotions that she has as she mentions: “If I allow myself to weep, / I hear her— // Stop making it about you” (Freed 18). Since Freed decides to add dialogue, reflecting something Mahalia might have said, the choice of words mirror an upset tone that her daughter would have expressed. Her voice echoes in this poem; even if it’s only projected through Freed, it’s now embedded so deeply that she controls her own grief.

Your Name is a Poem is touching, captivating and filled with different phases of emotions. Freed shares vulnerable moments with the reader during and after her daughter’s battle with cancer. Within this collection, we get a glimpse of what her family went through; we still feel Freed’s intense reality across 35 pages of poetry.

Your Name Is a Poem is available from Picture Show Press

---

Angela Çene is a poet, raised Massachusetts by two Albanian Immigrants. She enjoys writing about the body, & how it relates to the world & our experiences. After earning her Bachelors in Writing, Literature & Publishing from Emerson College, she is currently preparing to apply to law schools. Angela enjoys traveling & finding new restaurants.