Sundress Reads: Review of At the Window, Silence

Sundress Reads logo, which shows a sheep reading, with glasses on and a book. Logo is black and white.
Cover of book "At the Window, Silence." Cover image shows a dainty plant in autumn or late summer.

Part modern and part reminiscent of Romantic era poetry, At the Window, Silence (Fernwood Press, 2025) by Kenneth Pobo elicits the reader’s emotional side through combining commonly identifiable experiences with arresting phrases. The first half of the collection, titled “Inside,” traipses through a wide variety of topics, from family to religion and beauty, while the second half, titled “Outside,” homes in on the garden and plants, often using them to explore philosophy and self-reflection. Gardeners will enjoy the specific plant references, both the lovely, wanted chosen and the horrid, unwanted weeds. You might be taken by surprise, as I was, to find Pobo’s words and stories grip your heart and squeeze tears out.

Although “Inside” spans diverse themes, the stories, and often frank method of telling them, keeps the reader intrigued. My favorite poem from this section, “Marriage and Canned Peaches,” transports the reader into the exact scenario of the story, mentally and emotionally. Many of us have experienced being in a long-term, and rather sad, relationship. Pobo really captures the hopeless despair when he writes:

  “We sit on opposite sides
   of her sad eyes, then talk of work,

   the moon trapped like a key
   that broke in a lock.” (Pobo 18)

Other poems have a touch of humor, like the set that explores the sin of Adam and Eve and asks, “Why do our kids never ask / about our pasts?” (Pobo 39). This set needs basic biblical familiarity to appreciate, but both Christians and non-Christians alike will identify with the questions and points. Pobo points out that sometimes God can be harsh: “One mistake and you’re out” of the garden of Eden (Pobo 39). Pobo advocates for mercy, saying that everyone makes mistakes, and maybe we should “get some fireproof tongs” to pull out those sent to Hell for just one mistake (Pobo 41).

Just as abruptly as Adam and Eve were thrown out of the garden, we leave the myriad collection of “Inside” behind and step into “Outside,” the more focused and fine-tuned part of the book. With Romantic-type connections between nature and emotions, Pobo uses different plant species to study aspects of his own history and self. Everyone will find something emotionally pretty outside: dreams, fragility, and surprising loves.

The piece that gleams most brightly for me in At the Window, Silence is “Blue Himalayan Poppy,” in which the blue poppy represents something you want, but really won’t work with your current life, yet you illogically avow to possess anyway. Pobo orders his precious blue poppy, despite not being in the right climate for it. There are some things we can change about our lives and some things we can’t. Since he cannot move to the paradise of the Pacific Northwest where both himself and the blue poppy would flourish, Pobo proclaims he will help it thrive nonetheless in sweaty Pennsylvania, and “Blue petal waves / will find our yard’s shoreline, / break and break all spring long” (Pobo 61). Pobo makes the best of his life on the East Coast, filling his garden with his dreams.

Not all plants are things of beauty like the blue poppy, and our days are often filled with weeds that need pulling up. Another poem very relevant to our modern lives is “Weeding Borders,” which discusses the topic of boundary setting. Pobo points out that even if we plant strong borders with those we love, those borders start to grow weeds and will eventually disappear without maintenance. It takes effort to keep gardening what we want to grow, and to keep even our most beloved inside their borders. In simple, relatable language, Pobo says:

  “Tonight

   I’m going to sit by Stan
   and not talk about work,
   neaten the border, make it
   possible for beauty, slowly,
   to come into blossom.” (Pobo 63)

Throughout this collection, one recurring idea is that although “to err is human,” as Alexander Pope has said, we must keep trying. Weeds will try to grow, and we must continue to pluck them out. Work will try to invade our personal lives, and we must set boundaries with our time. Loved ones might try to make unfair demands, and we must balance our own needs. Pobo communicates that we should approach mistakes with understanding and forgiveness. We’ve all regretted some action, and Pobo reminds us it’s just a part of our humanity. In this book, even Adam forgives Eve, saying he might have done the same, if the snake had found him first, and

  “Maybe Judas, freed,
   will email Jesus and say,
   Hey, I goofed. Sorry.” (Pobo 41)

And that’s all that’s needed.

At the Window, Silence offers everyday loveliness and mercy for everyone, and I recommend it for most adult readers. Home gardeners will especially appreciate the “Outside” poems. This collection is best enjoyed either in private or with close friends, in case it sparks strong emotion, and is best read in your own backyard. I would also like to recommend the following tea pairing with this book: Garden Therapy Herbal Tea. This tea combines familiar and soothing herbs with a touch of special verbena, allowing you to relax in a quietly fresh garden scent while reading from either side of your window.

At the Window, Silence is available from Fernwood Press

Ana Mourant sitting on grass reading a book. She has light skin and blonde hair, has a sunflower in her hair, and is wearing a green sundress.

Ana Mourant (she/her) is an editorial intern for Sundress Publications and a recent graduate of the University of Washington’s editing program. She holds a Certificate in Editing as well as a Certificate in Storytelling and Content Strategy, and a BA in English Language and Literature, with a minor in Professional Writing. Ana conducts manuscript evaluations, edits, and proofreads, as well as provides authenticity and sensitivity readings for Indigenous Peoples content. Ana loves nature writing and Indigenous cultures, and, when she’s not working, is often out in the wilderness tracking animals, Nordic skiing, or just enjoying nature.

The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: Moon as Salted Lemon by Clayre Benzadón

This selection, chosen by guest editor nat raum, is from Moon as Salted Lemon by Clayre Benzadón (Driftwood Press, 2025).

Qué Guay

I.

In the backyard of Madrid summer,
unpatterned patchwork embeds turf.

My cousins and I are chasing bees
outside their house, whacking

the creatures with tennis rackets.
The fissured organs look sprightly to me.

I think that to gain dominion over
something that can sting me

is righteous. Fuzz and thorax
punctures from its abdomen.

White foam spurts out.
Froth from the pool laps at our feet.

We are above the tile, on top of
a boulder, about to cannonball in.

II.

Enanito! The older brother calls
to his younger one. I laugh. I like

him a little too much. The little one
starts to sing Selena’s “Como la Flor”

in a pleasant pre-pubescent pitch.
Ma-ri-co-co-co, his brother serenades

III.

back to him. Nature feels nimble,
   como manos de madrugada,

organized fissures to suffice
the gore of matching machismo,

of the older one’s word: maricón.
Como maduro, o masticar.

Faggot—It’s a throttled swallow,
marcado adentro del órgano vital, corazón

como una maleta llena de masculinidad,
una máscara sin sentimiento.

The forced pouring, the push into
the water. The boys play-tackle in the pool.

Se enfrentan mientras se bañan en la espuma.
It’s the gayest thing I’ve ever seen.

Clayre Benzadón (she / they) is a queer (bi /pan) Sephardic-Ashkenazi poet, educator, and activist. Her chapbook, “Liminal Zenith”, was published by SurVision Books in 2019. Her manuscript “Moon as Salted Lemon” was recently named an honorable mention for Miami Book Fair’s 2025 Emerging Writer’s Fellowship. She has been published in places including Jet Fuel Review, Libre, and SWWIM.


nat raum (b. 1996) is a queer disabled artist, writer, and editor based on unceded Piscataway and Susquehannock land in Baltimore. They hold an MFA from the University of Baltimore and a BFA from the Maryland Institute College of Art. Past and upcoming publishers of their work include Poet Lore, beestung, Baltimore Beat, Split Lip Magazine, BRUISER, and others. Find them online at natraum.com.

The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: Moon as Salted Lemon by Clayre Benzadón

This selection, chosen by guest editor nat raum, is from Moon as Salted Lemon by Clayre Benzadón (Driftwood Press, 2025).

Ser la Leche

Gutpunch as soon as the soap-sour aroma touches the two front
teeth, buoys creamy, full-bodied, at the roof of the mouth,
gurgle-clogs the throat with foam.

O sea, mala leche. Si tomas leche así, del carton, y sabe podrida:
mala suerte, sabes?

As in, I am the milk, like I am the shit, sick, in liquid form—
take me as I am.

Cuando te doy una leche, it’s a gesture towards sweetness, sis,
I’m thinking of the juxtaposition of the phrase “don’t cry over
spilled milk”, and how the tongue is naturally more sensitive
to dulce (de leche) when things are hotter (like me, when I
want to be).

I’m thinking more of the spilling as useful, a tactic, pouring a
glass of it over your head: here, have this milk, drink it, bit(ch) of
milk magic (like Milk Bar®, or the makeup company).

Sometimes, the sourness begins to froth when mom or dad tells
me, “estás de mala leche hoy”, or especially when remember-
ing the taste of the off-white liquid protein substitute they
used to make me gulp down—I’d hold my nose every time I
had to ingest a tablespoon of artificial lemon, a toxic I’d almost
puke back into the amber bottle—

For dad, the most important part of a child’s growth involved
strong bones: his reminder, proteína! sounded like the got milk?
campaign, but to advertise Cola Cao Chocolate Drink Mix in-
stead; worst would have been to have a son who ended up en-
clenque, weak, feeble, lanky…

I lap up what I can get, I guess; see, I am the milk because the body
inhabits what it’s most averse to. Milk is the food of the gods, the
first human diet, yet galactosemia means something else: galactose
+ blood, or the accumulation of galactose in my blood, the inability
to properly metabolize sugar into the galactic—in this way I un-
shapen, travel all the way down to the gut, then eventually collect
in the liver.

Sí, soy la leche. Maybe I’m milking it, but my instincts tell me I’ve
been that lost boy on the milk carton for so long, people finally
know who I am: except I’m not the proud son, I don’t have the
muscle for it. Sometimes it meant I was the schoolkid without a
proper birthday party (I couldn’t have my cake, and I couldn’t eat
it either).

               Women tend to have smaller, thinner bones than men.

I’m trying to metabolize this fact. I’m churning it. No matter what
form the milk surfaces as, maybe all I’m reaching for, wading to-
wards, is to reach kin above the milk skin, to form into nata, a del-
icacy soft to taste, melt-in-the-mouth digestible.

What it really boils down to is this:

more than I try to skim
/ the girl out myself,

more than anything,

                               I’m the (m)ilk
                               / of my mother.

Clayre Benzadón (she / they) is a queer (bi /pan) Sephardic-Ashkenazi poet, educator, and activist. Her chapbook, “Liminal Zenith”, was published by SurVision Books in 2019. Her manuscript “Moon as Salted Lemon” was recently named an honorable mention for Miami Book Fair’s 2025 Emerging Writer’s Fellowship. She has been published in places including Jet Fuel Review, Libre, and SWWIM.


nat raum (b. 1996) is a queer disabled artist, writer, and editor based on unceded Piscataway and Susquehannock land in Baltimore. They hold an MFA from the University of Baltimore and a BFA from the Maryland Institute College of Art. Past and upcoming publishers of their work include Poet Lore, beestung, Baltimore Beat, Split Lip Magazine, BRUISER, and others. Find them online at natraum.com.

The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: We Had Mansions by Mandy Shunnarah

This selection, chosen by guest editor nat raum, is from We Had Mansions by Mandy Shunnarah (Diode Editions, 2025).

marriage, as peaches rot on the counter

He’s the one who bought them; had the peaches
delivered from New Century CSA, the organic farm
the next county over. He’s the one who bakes,
coaxing pies & cobblers from Ohio’s fruits.

I’m more for simple pleasures. I eat my peaches raw, no
condiment adornment, not bothering to slice. Teeth
puncturing downy skin, juice trailing down jawline. Chin
working to contain the nectar before it catches my shirt.

Neither of us touches the peaches. I wait for him
to bake, not wanting to spoil his ingredients; he waits
for me to eat, not wanting to rob me of a snack. We
do not speak of the peaches, only watch as they transform

from succulent & squeezable to wrinkled & age-spotted,
rotting before our eyes. When the mottled fruit is too bruised,
too speckled with mold, too sunken as graying orange skin
reaches inward for its pitted core, I take the peaches to the compost.

We should have eaten those, he says. We should have talked
more, should have loved better, should have eaten the peaches
when they were ripe & full & round with possibility,
fresh from the farmer’s truck when we still had the chance.

Yes, my husband. There are many things we should have done.

Mandy Shunnarah (they/them) is an Appalachian and Palestinian-American writer in Columbus, Ohio. Their essays, poetry, and short stories have been published in Electric Literature, The Rumpus, Black Warrior Review, and others. They won the Porter House Review 2024 Editor’s Prize in Poetry and are supported by the Ohio Arts Council, the Greater Columbus Arts Council, and the Sundress Academy for the Arts. Their first book, Midwest Shreds: Skating Through America’s Heartland, was released in 2024 from Belt Publishing, and their second book, a poetry collection titled We Had Mansions, was published by Diode Editions in 2025. Read more at mandyshunnarah.com.


nat raum (b. 1996) is a queer disabled artist, writer, and editor based on unceded Piscataway and Susquehannock land in Baltimore. They hold an MFA from the University of Baltimore and a BFA from the Maryland Institute College of Art. Past and upcoming publishers of their work include Poet Lore, beestung, Baltimore Beat, Split Lip Magazine, BRUISER, and others. Find them online at natraum.com.

The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: We Had Mansions by Mandy Shunnarah

This selection, chosen by guest editor nat raum, is from We Had Mansions by Mandy Shunnarah (Diode Editions, 2025).

ekphrastic under a bombed-out sky

“If you cut out a rectangle of perfectly blue sky, no clouds, no wind, no birds, frame it with a blue
frame, place it face up on the floor of an empty museum with an open atrium to the sky, that is grief.”
                                            — Victoria Chang in “Grief—as I knew it, died many times”

I can’t abide happy art, not when the air
hanging over my people is smoke-dusted,
bomb-clouded, gray with phosphorus
& miasmic with rot. Not when the weather
is sunny with a chance of bullets, partly
bloody, & cool with a wind chill of dead.
Not when the DSM has no diagnosis
for PTSD with no P because there’s no post,
so the letters pile up like bodies in the street.

Blue sky grief is a different breed: natural causes
& old age; diseases acquired from a life lived,
if not lived well. Our sky grief is a night ablaze
with rockets, eardrums throbbing, windows
rattling, & tent flaps clapping from the blast.

I buy an abstract painting during the genocide
so I can project my grief onto the canvas.
One day the triangle of red is blood; another,
it’s a wedge of ambulance. One day it’s a purple
smudge of fig; another, a deep bruise. One day
the chartreuse is a festering wound; another,
the sick of sick, but there’s no poetic way
to say vomit. Frameless, uncontainable.

If I place my abstract on the floor of what’s left
of a looted museum with a hole to the sky
where the ceiling once was, I doubt
the warplanes would even notice—
& because they chose not to see, they’ll claim
it must never have been there at all.

Mandy Shunnarah (they/them) is an Appalachian and Palestinian-American writer in Columbus, Ohio. Their essays, poetry, and short stories have been published in Electric Literature, The Rumpus, Black Warrior Review, and others. They won the Porter House Review 2024 Editor’s Prize in Poetry and are supported by the Ohio Arts Council, the Greater Columbus Arts Council, and the Sundress Academy for the Arts. Their first book, Midwest Shreds: Skating Through America’s Heartland, was released in 2024 from Belt Publishing, and their second book, a poetry collection titled We Had Mansions, was published by Diode Editions in 2025. Read more at mandyshunnarah.com.


nat raum (b. 1996) is a queer disabled artist, writer, and editor based on unceded Piscataway and Susquehannock land in Baltimore. They hold an MFA from the University of Baltimore and a BFA from the Maryland Institute College of Art. Past and upcoming publishers of their work include Poet Lore, beestung, Baltimore Beat, Split Lip Magazine, BRUISER, and others. Find them online at natraum.com.

The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: We Had Mansions by Mandy Shunnarah

This selection, chosen by guest editor nat raum, is from We Had Mansions by Mandy Shunnarah (Diode Editions, 2025).

nutrition facts

Specialty Communion Wafers, Gluten-Free
Calories 0

                                                                              0% Daily Value
Total Fat                                              0 g          0%
Saturated Fat                                      0 g          0%
Trans Fat                                             0 g          0%
Omega-3 Fatty Acids                        0 g           0%
Cholesterol                                         0 mg        0%
Sodium                                                0 mg        0%
Total Carbohydrate                           0.5g         0%
Dietary Fiber                                      0 g           0%
Sugars                                                  0.5g         0%
Protein                                                 0.5g         0%
Calcium                                               0 mg        0%
Alcohol                                                0 g           0%
Iron                                                      0 mg       0%
Vitamin A                                            0 mg       0%
Vitamin C                                            0 mg       0%

Genuflecting, tapping the sign
of the cross on my torso, I look
to his catholicized form—not
just the cross, but whole bloody
body, knife wounds sculpted,
weeping stigmata painted into
milky skin, bones scaffolding flesh.
Only tempting for those prone
to gnaw, a feast for starved dogs.

The elderly approach the eucharist
with tongues lolling, dry & wanting,
waiting to accept with open mouths,
but I with hands in bored supplication,
feed myself. This body always leaves me
wanting with a hunger that can’t be

satiated here. Are we not meant
to want more than scraps, more
sustenance than scraping subsistence?

It’s how they keep us coming back.
Promises of fulfillment unfulfilled;
a lifetime of next times & afterlives.
A thousand words for lack.

Mandy Shunnarah (they/them) is an Appalachian and Palestinian-American writer in Columbus, Ohio. Their essays, poetry, and short stories have been published in Electric Literature, The Rumpus, Black Warrior Review, and others. They won the Porter House Review 2024 Editor’s Prize in Poetry and are supported by the Ohio Arts Council, the Greater Columbus Arts Council, and the Sundress Academy for the Arts. Their first book, Midwest Shreds: Skating Through America’s Heartland, was released in 2024 from Belt Publishing, and their second book, a poetry collection titled We Had Mansions, was published by Diode Editions in 2025. Read more at mandyshunnarah.com.


nat raum (b. 1996) is a queer disabled artist, writer, and editor based on unceded Piscataway and Susquehannock land in Baltimore. They hold an MFA from the University of Baltimore and a BFA from the Maryland Institute College of Art. Past and upcoming publishers of their work include Poet Lore, beestung, Baltimore Beat, Split Lip Magazine, BRUISER, and others. Find them online at natraum.com.

The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: We Had Mansions by Mandy Shunnarah

This selection, chosen by guest editor nat raum, is from We Had Mansions by Mandy Shunnarah (Diode Editions, 2025).

jesus was trans

               for Shelby

To an inquisitive child, Baptists might reluctantly admit
              God is neither man nor woman,
                           but I know Jesus is trans.
She told me. Picked the wig out himself & everything.

I remember this when Shelby says she’s nobody’s daughter.
              There’s no good word for an orphan
                           like her & I’m no parent, but, girl,
we raised ourselves. So I tell her: You’re your own daughter.

You are the woman that assigned male kid needed.
              Time isn’t linear—you mothered & fathered & fucked
                           yourself into being. You sacrificed your skin
to an undeserving world through bodily trans-

formation & was persecuted for it. What could be more holy
              than that? Time loops in on itself & I see you
                             in a sundress, beribboned straw hat,
& garden gloves, planting pink, blue & white rows of roses.

Decades from now, you’ll look at your photos lining your hall:
               hair lengthening, skin glowing supple
                            with care, eyes brightening with your signature
shadow. At the last frame on the wall, a mirror, & you’ll stop to say,

I’m so proud of all you’ve been & all you’ve become.
              In another time, when you return
                           —anticipated, rapturous, primed for worship—
I hope you’ll say instead: I’m no one’s son.

Mandy Shunnarah (they/them) is an Appalachian and Palestinian-American writer in Columbus, Ohio. Their essays, poetry, and short stories have been published in Electric Literature, The Rumpus, Black Warrior Review, and others. They won the Porter House Review 2024 Editor’s Prize in Poetry and are supported by the Ohio Arts Council, the Greater Columbus Arts Council, and the Sundress Academy for the Arts. Their first book, Midwest Shreds: Skating Through America’s Heartland, was released in 2024 from Belt Publishing, and their second book, a poetry collection titled We Had Mansions, was published by Diode Editions in 2025. Read more at mandyshunnarah.com.


nat raum (b. 1996) is a queer disabled artist, writer, and editor based on unceded Piscataway and Susquehannock land in Baltimore. They hold an MFA from the University of Baltimore and a BFA from the Maryland Institute College of Art. Past and upcoming publishers of their work include Poet Lore, beestung, Baltimore Beat, Split Lip Magazine, BRUISER, and others. Find them online at natraum.com.

The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: We Had Mansions by Mandy Shunnarah

This selection, chosen by guest editor nat raum, is from We Had Mansions by Mandy Shunnarah (Diode Editions, 2025).

only an american

Just like the Brits to rename our country
with a P: a letter we don’t have, a sound
our tongues wrestle to say. It’s not Palestine
like old buddy, old pal, old friend, but Falastin.
They’d know Arabic is phonetic if they could
read, but that’s an occupier for you—unwelcome
guest. We have names impossible to mispronounce
& yet they expect the world to say it their way.

In their new country, my grandparents
give their children “good American names”
impossible to mispronounce by the native-born
of this land. They called their first child, a daughter,
Patricia—with a P. Because who would believe
an umma & baba from Falastin would name their
child with a letter their mouths refused to speak,
damned to a lifetime calling her Badrisha.

Only an American would do that.

Mandy Shunnarah (they/them) is an Appalachian and Palestinian-American writer in Columbus, Ohio. Their essays, poetry, and short stories have been published in Electric Literature, The Rumpus, Black Warrior Review, and others. They won the Porter House Review 2024 Editor’s Prize in Poetry and are supported by the Ohio Arts Council, the Greater Columbus Arts Council, and the Sundress Academy for the Arts. Their first book, Midwest Shreds: Skating Through America’s Heartland, was released in 2024 from Belt Publishing, and their second book, a poetry collection titled We Had Mansions, was published by Diode Editions in 2025. Read more at mandyshunnarah.com.


nat raum (b. 1996) is a queer disabled artist, writer, and editor based on unceded Piscataway and Susquehannock land in Baltimore. They hold an MFA from the University of Baltimore and a BFA from the Maryland Institute College of Art. Past and upcoming publishers of their work include Poet Lore, beestung, Baltimore Beat, Split Lip Magazine, BRUISER, and others. Find them online at natraum.com.

Meet Our New Intern: Savannah Roach

Growing up, I watched my mom read constantly. Her shelves overflowed with well-worn paperbacks and hardcovers, the corners bent from love and re-reading. As a kid, I didn’t get it. I’d ask, “Why read the same story twice?” or tease her when she cried over fictional characters. But now, I understand. Books were her escape. Her outlet. Her way of processing a world that didn’t always feel gentle. And somewhere along the way, I inherited that same instinct.

For me, it’s romance novels and period dramas that feel like home. There’s something about getting swept away into a slow-burn love story set in a candlelit ballroom or sun-drenched countryside that makes the noise of everyday life a little quieter. Whether it’s Pride and Prejudice, Outlander, or a swoony new romance from BookTok, I find pieces of myself in each plot and prose.

Books have become more than just a hobby; they’re how I recharge, how I reflect, and sometimes, how I remember who I am. They’ve helped me put words to emotions I didn’t even know how to name. They’ve taught me that sometimes the smallest things, a glance, a letter, the way someone says your name, can carry entire universes of meaning. Reading helped me fall in love with quiet moments: the morning light hitting a coffee cup just right, the way the wind moves through the trees, the pause between words in a really good conversation.

More than that, stories gave me courage. Courage to dream bigger. To travel. To believe the world is full of people worth knowing and places worth exploring. I’ve booked flights and wandered cities alone because a character once did the same. I’ve trusted my gut more boldly because books taught me that adventure often begins with a single step outside your comfort zone.

And yes, books made me believe in love. In happily ever afters. Not in a perfect, fairy tale kind of way, but in a hopeful, deeply human one. The kind of love that’s imperfect and earned and worth waiting for. The kind my mom used to read about late into the night when she thought no one was watching.

Now, as a 20-year-old senior at the University of Tennessee, Knoxville—majoring in English and minoring in Advertising and PR—I look back and see how those pages shaped me. I don’t just want to read stories anymore. I want to write them, share them, and help others feel seen by them, the way I’ve always felt when I turned the final page of a book that mattered.

My mom gave me that without even trying, and I like to think she’s excited that I finally understand what she was chasing in those quiet hours with a book in hand.

Savannah Roach (she/her) is a senior at the University of Tennessee, where she majors in English with a concentration in technical communication and minors in advertising and public relations. She is a travel enthusiast, bookworm, amateur baker, and nature lover. While she enjoys books of all kinds, she’s especially drawn to the haunting beauty and rich atmosphere of Southern Gothic literature. With a great love for Knoxville, she looks forward to serving the writing community in this position. 

Meet Our New Intern: Penny Wei

My name is Penny Wei and I am from Shanghai, China, currently living in Massachusetts. I am a Virgo, slow-walker, and an admirer of lakes, botanical gardens, and cherries.

Ever since I was a child, I loved to do two things: daydream and write.

Adults often scolded me for staring too long at what didn’t exist. I would nod, turn away, and return to the plot unfolding in my head. Words on a page became my bridge to imagination — only through the exertion of language could I give shape to the formless, wandering visions inside me. I rooted myself in paper; the page drank my ink, and I drank what later shaped my soul.

For a long time, I was a prose writer — I even despised poetry. To me, poetry felt like nonsense: strange metaphors merging things without reason. Why should my mother be a tree if her skin wasn’t bark? Why should poppy seeds overtake eyes? I was raised in a world where everything had to have meaning, where blue curtains meant sadness because blue meant sorrow. But then I read a poem where blue glowed holy, and suddenly, the rules no longer held.

Poetry became my emancipation — a place where empathy sprawls like vines, where I can mourn the trivial and praise the fleeting. It’s where I can say my mother is a butterfly rinsing black-blooded toenails, and that image is its own truth.

I’m thrilled to join Sundress Publications as an editorial intern, where I can harness this love for language, prose and poetry alike, into supporting others’ work. I look forward to helping writers bring their voices to the page and sharing that joy for the literary arts with our community.

Penny Wei is from Shanghai and Massachusetts. She has been recognized by the Longfellow House, Cafe Muse, and Just Poetry, amongst others. Her works are up or forthcoming on Eunoia Review, Inflectionist Review, Dialogist, Aloka, and elsewhere.