Hi Writers,
Thank you for joining us this past weekend in the “Survival Takes a Wild Imagination” workshop. We shared a wonderful time together, and in Fariha's words, we felt truly nourished.
We come bearing gifts for all, and below, you'll find the three writing prompts that Fariha specially crafted for us, along with the poems she referenced.
Additionally, we've included two chosen poems from members who participated in the workshop. Finally, congrats to Kendra Thompson for winning a signed copy of Fariha’s book, “Survival Takes a Wild Imagination.” 🥳
With love and care,
Francisco + Nicole
P.S. If you’re in NYC, join us this Sunday for the Zine Fair at the Brooklyn Museum!
First Writing Prompt:
READ: Lucille Clifton, Grief
WRITE: Locate the grief inside of you, where does it sit within you? Write what it’s saying to you, pay attention, and listen carefully.
Second Writing Prompt:
READ: Natalie Diaz, How the Milky Way Was Made
WRITE: What is your relation to the universe? How does that overlap with your feelings about a loved one? Is there an overlap in the way you love the Earth and the way you love your beloved? Write to me about it, whether a poem or a short essay.
Third Writing Prompt:
READ: Fariha Róisín, An Ode to Baby Fa (we couldn’t find it online, but you can purchase “Survival Takes a Wild Imagination” and read it on pg. 53-55)
WRITE: An ode to truth, an ode to the erotic.
Selected Poems:
Untitled by Unknown Author
My grief loves me, my grief wants to connect with another and bloom into acceptance—
My grief tells me that they will be for me in any capacity
How much of it is choice—
How much of it is coping mechanism
My grief made it hard for me to breathe for months
My grief lingered behind a deep breath I couldn’t make.
My grief grows with me—
It too takes many forms
It grows old
My grief at times does not feel like my own—
But a combination of mothers.
How can I make it my own?
Cut Off by Leena Cho
cold hands, cold feet
turning numb, touching
land, weeping
the soil, the trees, the roots,
the branches
of the olive trees cut
off, the legs of Palestinian men
cut off
the Japanese cherry blossoms, beautifully
—invasive
on every corner of my childhood town in Korea
the girl who doesn’t want fake legs
to remind her of hers that were
cut off
the reminder of what it
—replaces
the reminder of the pain
will only help others
forget what has been lost
how much will be forgotten?
I stand so far from my ancestors’ land
am I still connected?
14 hours through air
all air, but so dense
the video calls, lagging,
my mom says, Leena,
“Are you still connected?”
am I still connected?
cut off, cut off, cut off