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- February 22, 2025 | 1:00 AM713 Congress Ave., Austin, TX 78701, USA
- February 22, 2025 | 5:00 PM
- February 27, 2025 | 1:00 AM7112 Burnet Rd, Austin, TX 78757, USA
Torch Magazine (190)
- Friday Feature: Tatiana Johnson-Boria
Tatiana Johnson-Boria (she/her) is the author of Nocturne in Joy (2023), winner of the 2024 Julia Ward Howe Book Prize in poetry. She's an educator, artist, and facilitator who uses her writing practice to dismantle racism, reckon with trauma, and cultivate healing. She's an award-winning writer who has received fellowships from Tin House, The Massachusetts Cultural Council, The MacDowell Residency, and others. Tatiana completed her MFA in Creative Writing at Emerson College and teaches at Emerson College, GrubStreet, and others. Find her work in or forthcoming at The Academy of American Poets, Ploughshares, Kenyon Review Online, among others. She's represented by Lauren Scovel at Laura Gross Literary. Notes on Conception I thought I needed to be something else for you to stay. Less cavernous. Less unwell. Less reeling from my childhood. Less inhibited. I thought it would be impossible for you to exist inside of me. Who am I to ask for another to grow from me? What makes me any sort of fertile root? Once there was nothing but a desire for someone to love something else, alive. This is another way to say I had a mother once. Or another way to say I have some semblance of a mother. I believed I was good enough for this. As she believed she was. We believed we were capable and responsible and loving enough for what we drew in our own minds. What makes that possible? What makes it possible that you have a beating heart, that beats faster than the one I carry? How are you so far ahead yet so unborn? There is a beginning and growing I wish upon you. There is a life that is yours alone. You cannot exist without the ending before you. Your grandmother laughs the first time I tell her I am pregnant. The conversation happens over the phone. “Really?! Really? ” She’s in disbelief. “Wow, wow, wow.” She says and laughs some more. The laughter settles in me while my body changes. I have headaches and can’t get out of bed. I feel an exhaustion that I’ve never felt before. I spend way too much time on the bathroom floor, trying to survive the nausea. Is this what it felt like for my mother? There are no pictures of my mother pregnant. Sometimes it feels as if I am not real. What was spoken before I knew any semblance of her language? Before truly understanding the cadence of my own voice, the restlessness in hers. What must it have felt like to be one with her? Intertwined and without escape. After I share the news about the pregnancy, she stops calling for weeks. This pause of us connecting is familiar, yet I still ache from it. I find myself bleeding the morning before teaching a writing class. This is when someone else takes over, a different version of me emerges and teaches the entire three-hour class, knowing something is terribly wrong. After the class, your father and I drive to the emergency room. He doesn’t want to believe something is wrong, he is upbeat and positive. “I read online that sometimes bleeding happens…what kind of bleeding is it? Is it a lot? Is it spotting?” He’s earnest and innocent. He wants to be right. Something in me knows that he isn’t. It’s a Saturday afternoon, and the drive to the hospital is smooth and fast. I stare at each red light we encounter, willing it to change. I am powerless and I know it. When we arrive at the emergency room, we wait in a short line, it moves quickly. “What brings you in?” the front desk nurse asks. “I’m pregnant, but I’ve been bleeding,” I say, afraid of what’s coming out of my mouth. The nurse checks us in. The emergency room is filled with masked people. A young white family with a toddler, an ice pack pressed against their forehead. A woman trying to negotiate being seen with the nurse at the front desk. Us, holding our breath, waiting to be called. When we’re called, we wait in a small room with another nurse. “Congratulations!” she says. “Bleeding happens sometimes, they’ll figure out what is going on. You’ll be okay.” I don’t believe her. Like your father, I know that she too, is wrong. She takes my vitals and tells me and your dad to wait to be called. It’s loud in the waiting room and the time moves slowly. We wait for almost two hours. “We’re going to do an ultrasound,” the vitals nurse says. “Sometimes we don’t see anything on an ultrasound because you’re still early, but don’t worry.” She’s so certain and I don’t know why. We walk to the ultrasound. I lay back on the table while the technician slathers jelly on my stomach. “I’m just going to press a bit, just let me know if anything is uncomfortable,” she says. We sit in silence as the technician moves the ultrasound wand across my abdomen. “We may need to do an internal ultrasound as well, but the doctor will let us know,” the technician says. I sigh. I’ve experienced this before when my primary care physician was worried that I had fibroids. I dread the experience. We wait some more. She returns five minutes later. “Okay, let’s do the internal ultrasound. Is that okay?” she says. I nod yes. She readies another ultrasound wand with lubricant. “Okay, do I have your permission to insert this wand for the internal ultrasound?” She is so formal in her asking. I nod yes. I try to think about anything else while she moves the wand around capturing images. It’s over in what feels like a few moments. She leaves the room again. I get dressed. We move to another room. We wait some more. Soon the doctor arrives. “Okay, we aren’t seeing anything on the ultrasound…but that happens sometimes this early.” My heart sinks. “Let’s do some bloodwork today to check your HCG levels, if they increase then things are okay. If not, then the pregnancy is no longer viable.” I know my womb is empty. That the baby that was there, left before I even got to see it for the first time. No one says you’re no longer pregnant. Everyone is so careful with their words, yet I know there’s a truth no one is saying. I get the blood test, and my HCG levels are concerning. “Come back in two days for another test,” the doctor says. We leave. In the days following my HCG levels continue to drop while my body continues to bleed. I lay on the bathroom floor wailing until I can’t speak anymore. I don’t think then about having to tell my mother. I don’t want to believe it. There are mysteries in my body. Everyone pretends it's normal and I can’t. There are pregnancies that didn’t continue. I want to scream that there is a pain inside me even when this same pain exists for others. I want someone to know I bled something away. There may never be a birth. And what of me then? I tell your grandmother the news over the phone, more than a month after the miscarriage. “Oh, no, no suh” she says. Then she’s silent. I am too. “What happened?” she asks. She’s concerned. “I don’t know… they don’t know,” I tell her. Deep down I know this must somehow be my fault. “Okay,” she says. More silence. “I’ll call you back later. Bye.” She hangs up the phone. When I first became pregnant, I knew that I could not be happy. There was no reason not to, but most of the things that I strive for are difficult. Arduous. Seemingly undeserved. My mother once said she felt amazing when I was growing inside of her. It’s the only story I have of her pregnancy with me. It feels like a myth. When I grew you and the others, I felt untrusting of my body. When I became pregnant again, this time with you, I wanted to be happy. I wanted to exist in a joy of having never lost. Everyone journals, yet my language for you and the ones before you is different. It rejects prose, it rejects reflection, it rejects the parts of me that try to harness it, that try to write it down. Carrying you has transformed my tongue. There is nothing and everything to say. It is a secret yet a thing I want to scream. Your presence in my body is a restraining impulse. I push out words and they aren’t the right ones. In the bath, I forget that my body aches, but I can feel you inside of me swimming. Pushing against the womb, reminding me you’re still there. I don’t want to admit that I have been depressed today. I don’t want to admit that my happiness is just as intangible as when there’s no baby inside of me. I can’t eat or drink anything because the nausea is consuming. I spend my mornings lying on the couch until the last possible second before a work meeting. I’m grateful to work in a way that lets me log onto a computer and not leave the house. Only one person at work knows I’m pregnant, and she is understanding. Sometimes I lay on the couch in the afternoons as well. The fatigue hits my body at inconvenient times. I can fall asleep instantly, the whole thing is compulsory. One afternoon after sleeping, I notice a white light floating above me. I know it’s them, the ones before you. The glowing light hovers and floats away from me. I must be going crazy. I don’t look away from it. My eyes follow it as it keeps gliding across the room. I’m home alone. Its presence feels familiar. I vow to keep this moment to myself, but I’m telling you because maybe you saw it too. You were with me; you were inside of me. We experienced it together. The light flew to the door and out of the window. I never saw it again. I should think of them more. It feels easier not to because you are forming. Do they know I’ve stopped thinking of them? Have I stopped? Or have I just been thinking more of other things? When I find myself trapped in sadness about the things I’ve lost or the things that have left me, it’s strange to know that you might feel it too. You are closer to me than any person might ever be. I am afraid you’re already knowing me before I’ve begun to know you. We drive to see you, to see if you’re still there. It’s August and we are hoping your heart is beating. I try not to think of how empty my womb might be, yet I believe you are there. I don’t know why. On the ultrasound, a moving line shows your heartbeat. It’s 143 RPM. We get a picture, and you are a small amorphous shape in a larger black circle. You are alive. We’re in disbelief. Your dad drives us to work. He leaves the parking lot as the AC finally blows cool air. I look to his face and notice it changes. I tell him to pull over. We park in an empty spot and he turns off the car before crying. I watch him cover his face. “I can’t believe it,” he says. He can’t believe you’re alive. I’m still processing but watching him weep reminds me of the way your presence can wring us from the inside out, even when you are still forming. Your father stops and stares ahead, a smile grows on his face. I look out the window. There’s a playground with toddlers running around. I want to believe that you’ll be like one of them someday, running with endless energy. Something makes it hard for me to conjure this image. I smile anyway. “That’s going to be us,” I say. Your father looks at me, he holds my hand. ### Torch Literary Arts is a 501(c)3 nonprofit established to publish and promote creative writing by Black women. We publish contemporary writing by experienced and emerging writers alike. Programs include the Wildfire Reading Series, writing workshops, and retreats. Donate to help Torch amplify Black women writers.
- January 2025 Feature: Alexis Pauline Gumbs
Alexis Pauline Gumbs is an award-winning author of nonfiction and poetry. Her most recent book Survival is a Promise: The Eternal Life of Audre Lorde (FSG) has been named a Publisher’s Weekly Top 10 book of 2024 and a Time Magazine must-read book of 2024. Photo credit: Sufia Ikbal-Doucet Alexis Pauline Gumbs is a Queer Black Troublemaker and Black Feminist Love Evangelist and an aspirational cousin to all sentient beings. Her work in this lifetime is to facilitate infinite, unstoppable ancestral love in practice. Her poetic work in response to the needs of her cherished communities has held space for multitudes in mourning and movement . Alexis’s co-edited volume Revolutionary Mothering: Love on the Front Lines (PM Press, 2016) has shifted the conversation on mothering, parenting, and queer transformation. Alexis has transformed the scope of intellectual, creative, and oracular writing with her triptych of experimental works published by Duke University Press ( Spill: Scenes of Black Feminist Fugitivity in 2016, M Archive: After the End of the World in 2018, and Dub: Finding Ceremony, 2020.) Alexis is a 2023 Windham-Campbell Prize Winner in Poetry. Her book Undrowned: Black Feminist Lessons from Marine Mammals won the 2022 Whiting Award in Nonfiction. Alexis was a 2020-2021 National Humanities Center Fellow, funded by the Founders Award, and is a 2022 National Endowment of the Arts Creative Writing Fellow. Her most recent book Survival is a Promise: The Eternal Life of Audre Lorde (FSG) has been named a Publisher’s Weekly Top 10 book of 2024, a Time Magazine must-read book of 2024, a Guardian book of the week, and was longlisted for the Carnegie Medal in Nonfiction. *note from Alexis Pauline Gumbs: Each of the following poems is for the painter Alma Thomas. The footnotes reference the paintings that inspired the poems and in relevant cases the page where you can find them in the catalog for the Alma Thomas retrospective Everything is Beautiful. theology all of us women held in pieces by our clothes standing on the cobbled gravestones of our names and the light pink world around us a shattered sunrise shaded what we did to our eyes looking for stars we are blood we are rain we are gold bow before us standing tight and close against the cold once upon a time there was a drum it woke us once upon a time there was a barn we found it once upon a time there was a night we broke it with our gifts* * Three Wise Men, 1966 Acrylic on Canvas, 36 ½ by 23 ½ in. study in sistering this is how light works your face my face lean back into the triangle of sun and reach don’t look away your face my face our tilted heads one smile and reach don’t look away how much i love you our tilted heads one smile framed by the green that knows how much i love you a million leaves framed by the green that knows i am never leaving a million leaves a million stays i am never leaving lean back into the triangle of sun a million stitches million stays that’s how light works* * “Alma and Sister Maurice” 1922/23 Caption by John Maurice Thomas “Alma and Sister Maurice. The costume made and designed by my Mother. Picture made in the back yard of our home in DC.” p39 a ceremony for thicker skin first the red dirt they let me breathe it the basins the rags boiled and scrubbed Saturday nights then the gauntlet of weekday Georgia forcefield training a repeated decision to escape the hanging tree you must grow bark and never bite the hand the land with all its mineral advice would line our pores with memories and salt the lubricated dinners lined us too warm from the inside the thin petaled flowers they planted in a circle but not before they let me touch the roots* * Reverse of Antares (detail 1972) and Reverse of The Eclipse (detail 1970) where the ground seeps through the back of the canvas. Fig 6 and 7 p 98 on being blue I “There is little to make a black officer feel blue; other than sadness…”* Karl Osborne (a black NYPD officer and student of Audre Lorde) i learned to call you from underneath and the signal went up in all directions i learned the ocean had hallways where a sound could get lost and the signal went up in all directions and i sunk ever further where a sound could get lost this was my hiding place and i sunk ever further surrendered to depth this was my hiding place this was my peace surrendered to depth i forgot my name this was my peace in blue i forgot my name in the hallways of the sea in blue i learned how to call you** * Audre Lorde Papers, Box 82, Folder 2. ** Untitled 1977 Acrylic on paper, 22 x 30 in #169 p 318 on being blue II for Detective Capers and Patrolman Wright (two of the black NYPD officers shot and killed by white NYPD officers in the 1970s) i am the sea monster press my hands into waves they become sharks and sinking ships and this is why i’m blue and this is why i’m strong and this is why you don’t see me at night red lights warn in whispers from my breast and both my knees i brace myself against the sea as if it’s ground as if i’m free as if there’s any solid earth for me* * Blue Night (At Sea), 1959 Oil on canvas 40 x 30 1/8 in #155 p305 THE INTERVIEW This interview was conducted between Alexis Pauline Gumbs and Jae Nichelle on Dec 13th, 2024. It’s an honor to read these pieces from your forthcoming project Primary , which honors the painter Alma Thomas. Can you speak a little bit about how this project came to be? What drew you to her work? I was really just living my Black feminist life. I was in Nashville for the great Black feminist literary theorist Hortense Spillers’s retirement symposium at Vanderbilt and I remembered that the lesbian feminist photographer Joan E. Biren had advised me to go to the Alma Thomas retrospective “Everything is Beautiful” when it was in Thomas’s hometown of DC, but I missed it. And so the morning after the symposium my partner and I went to the exhibit. Right away I knew I was going to need much more than one morning with her work. There were so many synergies. Her interest in the cosmos, her work as an educator. And honestly, I needed time to wrap my head around how in the world a Black girl born in Columbus Georgia in eighteen ninety-one at the height of lynching became one of the most influential theorists of color in contemporary art. What does color even mean when you are a Black girl born in the nadir of blatant racism in the U.S. South? And so I challenged myself to write inspired by her work every morning. Indefinitely. And I found so much. Her colors took me to so many places, especially in my own childhood and adolescence. The flowers outside my childhood home, my fun-dip and skittle sugar era, my dark lipstick dreams. But I also started to develop a listening for her life as an art teacher, a community member, an oldest sister (like me!), and a trickster. “Theology” is inspired by Thomas’ painting “Three Wise Men.” You nod to the vibrant colors of the art piece in the poem while simultaneously subverting the story of the wise men. I’m wondering how your relationship to Thomas’ work has felt from poem to poem. Is there tension? Synergy? Surprise? YES! All of those things are there. My method has been to surrender and to listen. I don’t approach the work trying to say something about the painting with the poem. The poem is an artifact of what happens when I allow myself to welcome the unexpected associations that her colors and shapes bring to my body, mind, and spirit. I free myself from any mandate to make sense. Often it was not until I went back and read the poems (after about a year) that I started to almost understand them. Alma Thomas deeply studied the emotional and spiritual resonance of specific colors. This was core to her practice as a color theorist. She also intentionally infused her paintings with “energy” and my job was just to move out of my own way, open my heart, and allow it to find me. Many of the poems in the manuscript are almost maps for where that energy met me. “On being blue I” begins with a quote from the papers of Audre Lorde, which makes this work feel like it is in conversation with your new book Survival is a Promise: the Eternal Life of Audre Lorde. How are you feeling now that this biography has made its recent debut into the world? For sure. While I was writing these poems I was also doing the layers and layers of work that resulted in Survival is a Promise . I wish I could sit and listen to Audre Lorde and Alma Thomas in an actual conversation. Especially since they were both such impactful educators. In fact, that epigraph is evidence of Audre Lorde making space in her classroom at John Jay College of Criminal Justice for her students, police officers in this case a Black police officer who had been shot at by his own white colleagues, to theorize what “blue” meant to him and to them. The poem is accountable to that work. And how do I feel now that Survival is a Promise is actually in the world? It feels like what Beautiful Chorus says “gratitude brings room for more things to be grateful for.” Survival is a Promise is a work of gratitude for Audre Lorde and sharing it in the world has expanded the field of gratitude. The events celebrating the book have been such sacred spaces of love and possibility. It’s like exactly the inspiration and care that I have experienced from Audre Lorde’s work and her impact through her students…exactly the inspiration that made me want to write a biography that brings her to even more people IS the quality of the response to the book in our communities. It also is a commitment to anyone who didn’t already know that I am ready to bring Audre Lorde into the conversation at ANY time. You once mentioned that your first three books came “ from the same decision ,” which was to write daily using the words of three scholars. What decisions have you made recently that currently inform your work? Well, I am still in the decision to write daily, which was an admonition from an early mentor asha bandele, who was also a student of Audre Lorde! And it was my community writing teacher Zelda Lockhart who really provided the structure to learn for myself what makes it possible for me to write every day no matter what. But the decisions to engage in a particular project feel like answering my own attraction. My own curiosity and queer desire because I really never know what is going to happen inside the work. The work is teaching me. Right now in my daily practice, I am inside a decision I made for my daily writing to engage my curiosity about my ancestors. I am learning so much. What’s the oldest piece of clothing you have? Why have you kept it this long? I have a lot of old clothes. For a long time, I could still fit into clothes from my literal childhood, but I have finally come into my thickness so that’s not an excuse anymore. Praises! But I do have an archival adornment practice of wearing old clothes. I think my oldest articles are T-shirts that my grandparents wore. My grandmother’s NAACP shirt and my grandfather’s logo shirt for the hotel my grandparents founded, Rendezvous Bay Hotel in Anguilla. They are both blue and I love the feeling of accompaniment I get when I wear them. You’ve been part of several organizations, projects, and initiatives including UBUNTU and the Mobile Homecoming Project. What work are you currently excited about? So much! I’m excited about the technology company that my partner Sangodare started. It’s called QUIRC which is a combination of the words queer and circuit. It’s about bringing our communities together through this polymatching innovation Sangodare invented that can facilitate us finding each other and transforming the world on purpose. It blows my mind that Sangodare actually created a technology that makes our work in the Mobile Homecoming project of intergenerational queer black feminist liberation accessible to everyone on the planet as a mode of relation. (more at quirc.app ) I’m also excited to be part of the visioning council for The Embodiment Institute’s new retreat center in North Carolina. All of it is about being present and profoundly connected to each other. What are your favorite places to spend your time in Durham? On my office floor. I have a rug that’s like the ocean. I really love our home and the sweet small gatherings we have there with our community. And then we live a couple of blocks away from Tierra Negra, the farm at Earthseed, a Black and brown land collective that Sangodare and I helped to found. I love being on the farm. I love being in the barn (which is also where I get to participate in Mama Ruby’s West African dance class.). And I also love Duke Gardens. It feels like part of my reparations to benefit from the WILD amount of money they pour into curating those gardens. How can people support you right now? Honestly, it would feel supportive if people offered their prayers and magic for my uncle. I have an uncle recovering from brain surgery right now that is the first thing that came to my heart. Please send positive energy his way and to my whole family. And it is tangibly supportive for folks to support our ongoing queer listening and community building with Mobile Homecoming at mobilehomecoming.org . And of course please read Survival is a Promise (or listen to the audiobook…it’s me reading it!) we need Audre Lorde as much as we ever have. Name another Black Woman writer people should know. Well of course I already said Audre Lorde, asha bandele, and Zelda Lockhart. There are so many. But I’ll say Cheryl Boyce Taylor, another student of Audre Lorde and mentor of mine. Such a beautiful writer and an example for me of how we can bring writing to every day of our lives. ### Torch Literary Arts is a 501(c)3 nonprofit established to publish and promote creative writing by Black women. We publish contemporary writing by experienced and emerging writers alike. Programs include the Wildfire Reading Series, writing workshops, and retreats. Donate to help Torch amplify Black women writers.
- February Feature: Camille T. Dungy
Camille T. Dungy is a celebrated author and professor whose honors include the Academy of American Poets Fellowship, a Guggenheim Fellowship, an American Book Award, an Honorary Doctorate from SUNY ESF, and fellowships from the NEA in both prose and poetry. Camille T. Dungy is the author of Soil: The Story of a Black Mother’s Garden . Soil was named book of the month by Hudsons Booksellers, received the 2024 Award of Excellence in Garden and Nature Writing from The Council on Botanical and Horticultural Libraries, and was on the short list for the PEN/Jean Stein Award. Dungy has also written four collections of poetry, including Trophic Cascade , winner of the Colorado Book Award, and the essay collection Guidebook to Relative Strangers: Journeys into Race, Motherhood, and History , a finalist for the National Book Critics Circle Award. She edited Black Nature: Four Centuries of African American Nature Poetry, the first anthology to bring African American environmental poetry to national attention. She also co-edited the From the Fishouse poetry anthology and served as assistant editor for Gathering Ground: Celebrating Cave Canem’s First Decade . Her work has appeared in Best American Poetry, 100 Best African American Poems , Best American Essays, The 1619 Project, All We Can Save: Truth, Courage, and Solutions for the Climate Crisis, over 40 other anthologies, plus dozens of venues including The New Yorker, Poetry, Literary Hub , The Paris Review , and Poets.org . You may know her as the host of Immaterial , a podcast from the Metropolitan Museum of Art and Magnificent Noise. A University Distinguished Professor at Colorado State University, Dungy’s honors include the Academy of American Poets Fellowship, a Guggenheim Fellowship, an American Book Award, an Honorary Doctorate from SUNY ESF, and fellowships from the NEA in both prose and poetry. This’ll hurt me more Don’t make me send you outside to find a switch, my grandmother used to say. It was years before I had the nerve to ask her why switch was the word her anger reached for when she needed me to act a different way. Still, when I see some branches— wispy ones, like willows, like lilacs, like the tan-yellow forsythia before the brighter yellow buds— I think, these would make perfect switches for a whipping. America, there is not a place I can wander inside you and not feel a little afraid. Did I ever tell you about that time I was seven, buckled into the backseat of the Volvo, before buckles were a thing America required. My parents tried, despite everything, to keep us safe. It’s funny. I remember the brown hills sloping toward the valley. A soft brown welcome I looked for other places but found only there and in my grandmother’s skin. Yes, I have just compared my grandmother’s body to my childhood’s hills, America. I loved them both, and they taught me, each, things I needed to learn. You have witnessed, America, how pleasant hillsides can quickly catch fire. My grandmother could be like that. But she protected me, too. There were strawberry fields, wind guarded in that valley, tarped against the cold. America, you are good at taking care of what you value. Those silver-gray tarps made the fields look like a pond I could skate on. As the policeman questioned my dad, I concentrated on the view outside the back window. America, have you ever noticed how well you stretch the imagination? This was Southern California. I’d lived there all my life and never even seen a frozen pond. But there I was, in 65 degree weather, imagining my skates carving figure eights on a strawberry field. Of course my father fit the description. The imagination can accommodate whoever might happen along. America, if you’ve seen a hillside quickly catch fire you have also seen a river freeze over, the surface looking placid though you know the water deep down, dark as my father, is pushing and pushing, still trying to get ahead. We were driving home, my father said. My wife and my daughters, we were just on our way home. I know you want to know what happened next, America. Did my dad make it safely home or not? Outside this window, lilac blooms show up like a rash decision the bush makes each spring. I haven’t lived in Southern California for decades. A pond here killed a child we all knew. For years after that accident, as spring bloomed and ice thinned, my daughter remembered the child from her preschool. And now, it’s not so much that she’s forgotten. It’s more that it seems she’s never known that child as anything other than drowned. My grandmother didn’t have an answer. A switch is what her mother called it and her grandmother before her. She’d been gone from that part of America for over half a century, but still that southern soil sprang up along the contours of her tongue. America, I’ll tell you this much, I cannot understand this mind, where it reaches. Even when she was threatening to beat me, I liked to imagine the swishing sound a branch would make as it whipped toward my body through the resisting air. She’d say, this is hurting me more than it’s hurting you. I didn’t understand her then, but now I think I do. America, go find me a switch. *previously published in Literary Hub , and The Best American Poetry 2021, Ed. Tracy K Smith, and There’s a Revolution Outside, My Love . Eds Tracy K. Smith and John Freeman. Penguin/Random House, 2021 in the hallway there used to be a hatch that opened to the attic. heat poured out in summer. one winter, frost collected around failed seals. we hired some guys to throw up new insulation. I wanted to leave the crawl space, keep the hatch in case we had to hide people someday, but Ray reminded me they have infrared goggles now. so we asked the workers to cover the opening with drywall and paint. most of the time I forget that would-be shelter was ever there. Expectant; or, What the Transition Phase of Labor Confirmed about Being a Black Woman in America I thought I would say, now! and a new life would suddenly crown— another beautiful, ordinary head driven to split me wide open. But look at me. Still on my hands and knees. Still pushing. *previously published in Buzzfeed True Story The cat wandered between two women. In one house, the kibble and clear water. Sometimes, bits of roast chicken, even, sometimes, translucent fish skin. That’s the house that first called her its own and, for all those nights until she found the other woman, she’d purred there without asking for anything more. But, I’ve already told you, she found the other woman. Whose house held the wondrous calm of no children. A blessing. Wet food in the kitchen. Catnip growing for her in the yard. The women came to be like sister wives. Accepting, if not companiable. Opening and offering everything when the cat came around. For years this continued. They lived next door to each other, the women, on the wooded west slope of a mountain whose winding road runners liked to climb. The cat lay her body down first on one bed then on another until the arrangement settled into a system as unremarkable as love. One woman believed, as Issa believed, that in all things, even the small and patient snail, there are perceptible strings that tie each life to all others. The other woman was born in Chicago. There, the lake’s current carried a black boy past some unmarked line and a mob on the white beach threw rocks until the boy was no more. She didn’t side with the mob, this woman, but she knew where they came from. She came from there too. When the cat got sick, the woman from Chicago wanted to put her down quickly. Keep her from all this suffering, she said. The other woman wanted not so much for her to live forever as for her to fully live every second of her allotted time. Meanwhile, winter rain threatened the shallow-rooted eucalyptus on the hillside. Meanwhile, the runners still ran. The women argued in their divided driveway about how they’d prefer to die. Until she didn’t anymore, the cat continued eating in both the women’s houses. *previously published in Los Angeles Review of Books , June 2021 THE INTERVIEW This interview was conducted between Camille T. Dungy and Jae Nichelle on January 7, 2025. Thank you so much for sharing this brilliant work with us. I feel a deep resonance to “This’ll hurt me more,” especially in lines like “America, you are good at taking care of what you value.” I’m curious to know what you value these days and how you’ve been tending to those values. I value my community, my family, the people who walk through this world alongside me on a regular basis. Sometimes this community I value lives in the same house, or the same town, but I also believe in the community I create through my words and actions. (Torch is part of this community!) My people show up for me all over the world, and I place value on showing up for them as well. I am committed to being present for these people—my people—in a way that might mean I am less generically present to just any whosehisname out there. My daughter is a teenager, and I am intensely aware that the days of her needing me on a daily basis are numbered. I am committed to not taking this special time with her for granted. Similarly, my parents are in their 80s and though they are strong and healthy, I don’t want to take time with them for granted either. Every commitment I say “yes” to means other commitments I have to say “no” to. I am trying to be more mindful of what I choose to let go of so that I can more completely make space for what and who I need and want to prioritize. These poems are story-driven, and I especially love how “True Story” directly addresses the reader/listener. What would you say is your storytelling philosophy? I don’t know if I have a storytelling philosophy. My mind just works narratively. It’s a thing in our family to ask me first thing in the morning what I dreamt. My dreams are often wild rides, and they are almost always story-based. A couple days ago I had a long complex dream that revolved around taking my daughter to a ballet audition at a hotel and conference center where a friend of mine, who in the wide-awake world is a writer and ornithologist, was also staying. We saw him out on the small hills behind the hotel walking with another man and looking at a flock of female pheasants and their chicks. Between talking to the dance program director about the auditions and watching my husband participate as a stand-In for America’s top taste tester at the International Taste Testers competition (held at the same busy hotel), I thwarted an attempted coup and assassination attempt. My ornithologist friend was the target. He was about to be named president of Birders International, but the old guard didn’t like the idea of a Black man at the helm of their 250-year-old organization. They’d come up with an elaborate scheme to “get rid of him” in a "hunting accident." When I’d seen my friend out on that hill and waved at him and the would-be assassin, I messed up the whole scheme. My friend figured out what was happening and contacted law enforcement, who arrested the plotters. There were a lot more details to the dream than what I’ve just offered (the dance audition thread and the Taste Tester competition both wove back into the coup storyline by the end), but I shared this gloss so you can get a sense of how my unconscious mind naturally organizes information. Maybe it’s the All My Children I watched for the first few decades of my life. Or maybe it’s not the soap opera that caused it. Maybe I watched All My Children nearly every day for decades because wild interwoven ongoing storylines feel good to my brain. When it comes to writing, it’s not the stories that are the difficult part. It’s figuring out how to organize the several interconnected stories in ways that can make sense to other people and still retain both their weirdness and rightness. Speaking of true stories, you’ve spoken previously about writing docupoetry and how “witnessing” is a key component of your work. How do you approach the act of witnessing—especially when it comes to difficult or painful subjects? Witnessing is one of the tasks I believe writing must undertake. Writing must be honest. Writing must be urgent. Writing must mean something. Writing must matter. The world is full enough of fluff and distraction. The world is full enough of lies. If I am asking for your time, I intend to honor the gift you’ve given me by providing something true and substantive. Something worthy of your time. Writing from a place of truthful witness and honesty can be scary and dangerous and exhausting, but it seems to me that anything other than truthful witness and honesty is a fundamental waste of our time. I want to respect you and your time. I intend to offer you the kind of truth you need to read. To do this, I find ways to share the truth in a manner you will want to read. I offer beauty, paths toward joy and love. The world is full enough of unmitigated heartbreak. Truth told well can start to mend a broken heart. In an interview in 32 Poems , you mentioned that you used to play several instruments! If you had to pick today, what song and instrument would you play? Oh goodness, that’s a curious question. You know, I am surprised by the answer that came first to my mind: I would participate in a bell choir. Maybe it’s because I am writing this so close to the holiday season and all those pretty Christmas carols are still in my head. I like the idea of being in a community of music makers, without whom I could not make the music, or I couldn’t make the music as completely as I could in communion with others. A lot of the other things I do with my time these days are solitary. I like the idea of showing up every Wednesday from 7-9pm to practice making music with a bunch of other people who are all pitching in with their small range of notes to make a sound that will fill a building and spill out onto the street. What are your go-to dance moves? I am raising a dancer, but I’m not the best dancer myself. Since I am raising a teenager who is a very accomplished dancer, I am made painfully aware on a regular basis of how completely not a dancer I am. Still, I do like to dance. I like a low drop and slight pop. I just looked up this move to see what the kids are calling it these days. I don’t appreciate knowing that my favorite move is called a “Slut Drop,” but there you have it. When I’m dancing, I like to drop it like it’s hot. You’ve edited several anthologies in addition to being the poetry editor at Orion Magazine . What’s a lesson you’ve learned from your early editing days that has stuck with you? I learned very early in my editing experience that I am partial to poems that open strong. You can catch or lose me as a reader in the first four lines. There is such a thing as a slow burn, where the import and impact of the opening lines magnify as I move through the poem, but when I am reading hundreds of poems, if the first four lines aren’t reeling me in I am likely to move on to the next poem, and so will many readers. I want to add another important lesson, which is that no writer can please all readers, nor should they try. It is entirely possible that the few lines that don’t captivate me might prove utterly captivating to another reader. That’s one of the scariest and most liberating things about creating art. It’s hard to know whether something is working or failing based on anyone else’s opinion. Certainly not one individual reader’s opinion. You must learn to build your own set of criteria for success and failure and decide with each piece whether you’ve lived up to your own expectations or not. Your work has expanded our collective archive and understanding of Black environmental poetry. Thank you! What further progress do you hope to see in this area? I’m working on a project that I hope will offer an exciting answer to this question. More details forthcoming…. For now, I will say that one of the most exciting developments since the publication of Black Nature is how many Black writers are actively and visibly directly and creatively engaging with the greater than human world. When I edited and published Black Nature back around 2007 to 2010, it was possible for me to complete a thorough survey that identified most of the Black writers and writing that fit the category, even considering the ways that I worked to expand the existing limits of the genre. Such a comprehensive survey would be impossible today. So many writers finding so many ways to write about how we live and love and lose and work and dream in this immensely interconnected planet. That is thrilling to me! How can people support you these days? Goodness. I love this question so much. Love how you’re always modeling ways we can lift as we climb. I said above that I want to write toward honesty and truth, so here’s one thing: I would really love to see Soil: The Story of a Black Mother’s Garden on the NYT best sellers list. Sometimes books show up on the bestseller list through a kind of exponential word of mouth whereby suddenly 8000 people buy a book for themselves and their friends and family and libraries and book groups in the same week. Since you asked, I’ll go ahead and write this wish so the universe (and the internet) can hear. If you’re buying or recommending books in the new year, please add Soil: The Story of a Black Mother’s Garden to your list. Name another Black woman writer people should know. I teach literature at the college and graduate school level and am often surprised by how many Black writers students don’t know. Then again, I don’t remember really knowing Audre Lorde’s work until I was in college myself, so I try not to be downcast about it. Everyone meets their heroes at some point, and not everyone can come out of the cradle knowing all the writers who will grow to be important to them. Hopefully, if you don’t already know the work of Audre Lorde, Nikki Giovanni, Lucille Clifton, Toi Derricotte, Rita Dove, and Anne Spencer you will find your way to their work soon. Then there are some of my peers who thrill me every time I pick up their books. Evie Shockley, Ruth Ellen Kocher, January Gill O’Neil, Duriel Harris, Remica Bingham-Risher, and CM Burroughs spring immediately to mind. But I’m actually going to use this space to speak to a fascinating book by a beloved peer. Surviving Southampton: African American Women and Resistance in Nat Turner’s Community , written by Vanessa Holden, uplifts unsung women heroes of our nation’s past. There are some painful truths in this book, but also necessary lessons. We’ve got to be thinking our way towards active resistance and sustaining communities, and Surviving Southampton is full of truths more of us could benefit from knowing. ### Torch Literary Arts is a 501(c)3 nonprofit established to publish and promote creative writing by Black women. We publish contemporary writing by experienced and emerging writers alike. Programs include the Wildfire Reading Series, writing workshops, and retreats. Donate to help Torch amplify Black women writers.
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- Help Torch Raise $10,000 during Amplify Austin’s 2025 Giving Campaign! | Torch Literary Arts
< Back Help Torch Raise $10,000 during Amplify Austin’s 2025 Giving Campaign! Feb 10, 2025 For the third year in a row, Torch is participating in Austin’s metro-wide giving day to merge the Black women literary community with the wider Austin giving community. Torch is joining over 700 nonprofit local Austin organizations raise funds for their mission to amplify Black women writers. Merging the Torch community with the Austin philanthropist community, Torch sets a goal to raise $10,000. Amplify Austin’s official 24-hour giving day starts on March 5 at 6 p.m. CST and ends March 6 at 6 p.m. CST. Our fundraising page is open for early giving now! Donate today by visiting this link . Here are a few ways you can show your support during Amplify Austin: Donate directly to our Amplify Austin Campaign. To help us meet our fundraising goal, you can donate directly to our Amplify Austin page! This year, when you donate to Torch, you’ll also be included in raffles for some amazing prizes, thanks to community supporters like ACL Live, Colton House, Moody Center, Austin FC, Dallas Wings, Kendra Scott, Round Rock Express, Soup Peddler, and Jupiter Supper Club. Amplify our Instagram post. Sharing our information with your peers is another great way to reach future supporters and community members for free! When you follow the directions on our pinned Instagram post, you’ll also be entered into the raffle prizes from our community supporters. Create a fundraising page in support. How has Torch impacted your life? You can create a fundraising page sharing your personal Torch testimony and invite your friends and family directly to your fundraising page to show others how important Torch is to community members like you. Celebrate our impact on Amplify Austin Day. We’ll celebrate Amplify Austin Day in person on March 6 at DAWA HQ at 7 p.m . Celebrate by hearing words from the Torch team, open mic, and more! For more details about Amplify Austin, visit amplifyatx.org . ### About Torch Literary Arts Torch Literary Arts (TORCH) is a 501(c)3 nonprofit established with love and intention in 2006 to publish and promote creative writing by Black women. We publish contemporary writing by experienced and emerging writers alike. TORCH has featured work by Toi Derricotte, Tayari Jones, Sharon Bridgforth, Crystal Wilkinson, Patricia Smith, Natasha Trethewey, Elizabeth Alexander, and others. Programs include the Wildfire Reading Series, writing workshops, and retreats. Help TORCH continue to publish and promote Black women writers by donating today. About Amplify Austin Amplify Austin Day is the biggest giving event in Central Texas. For 24-hours, residents across our seven-county region are invited to participate by giving back to the local nonprofits that do so much good for our community! Since 2013, Amplify Austin Day has proudly raised $112.7 Million for 1,507 nonprofits. This online giving event is organized by the nonprofit, I Live Here I Give Here and supported by amazing partners. Previous Next
- News (All) | Torch Literary Arts
Latest News Feb 10, 2025 Help Torch Raise $10,000 during Amplify Austin’s 2025 Giving Campaign! For the third year in a row, Torch is participating in Austin’s metro-wide giving day to merge the Black women literary community with the wider Austin giving community. Read More Feb 10, 2025 Wintergreen Women Writers Collective and Torch Literary Arts Partner to Host Welcome Table Talks Series featuring Black Women Writers The two literary organizations dedicated to creating community for Black women writers will host a series of talks over the next three years thanks to funding from the Mellon Foundation. Read More Jan 31, 2025 Celebrating Black History Month by Acknowledging Black Women Writers and Their Contributions to Literature Torch is using this year’s Black History Month theme “African Americans and Labor” to highlight the literary work we do to share our voices. Read More Jan 24, 2025 Torch Literary Arts Announces 2025 Spring Season Torch’s 2025 Spring Season is full of community collaborations, readings, writing workshops, and more to empower and encourage Black women to continue telling their stories. Read More Jan 10, 2025 Torch Literary Arts to Open Applications for the 2025 Torch Retreat on February 3rd The Torch Retreat will host its third annual writing retreat for Black women writers at the Colton House in Austin, Texas from July 20-27, 2025. Read More Jan 3, 2025 City of Austin Cultural Arts Division Awards Torch Literary Arts the Thrive Grant along with Other Cultural Arts Organizations in Austin The Cultural Arts Division awarded $13 million in funds to local arts and cultural organizations for a second year with Thrive and Elevate grants. Read More Jan 3, 2025 Torch Literary Arts Announces Retirement of Board Member Dr. Omi Osun Joni L. Jones Dr. Omi Osun Joni L. Jones joined the board in 2023 bringing her expertise as an artist, performer, author, and scholar to help support Black women writers. Read More Jan 3, 2025 Welcoming the New Year with Love and Community Taking the time to thank you all for your support in 2024 and share exciting news for 2025 Read More Dec 12, 2024 'Tis the Season for Gifts & Giving Find out how to support Torch and our community sponsors and supporters this holiday season! Read More Dec 4, 2024 Torch Surpasses Fundraising Goal for 2024 GivingTuesday Campaign Joining one of the largest international giving days, Torch surpassed its fundraising goal of $5,000. Read More Nov 22, 2024 Torch Literary Arts Celebrates GivingTuesday with Community and Board Matches, Ignite the Night, and More. Torch is joining millions around the world participating in the global generosity movement on December 3, 2024. Read More Nov 22, 2024 Torch Announces the Nominations for the Pushcart Prize Six Torch Features, Erica Frederick, A. E. Wynter, Sydney Mayes, Chidima Anekwe, Chyann Hector, and Mon Misir, are nominated for their respective works. Read More Nov 15, 2024 Torch Executive Director and Features Named as Brooks Living Legacy Honorees 20 Torch community members were named Living Legacy Honorees Read More Nov 1, 2024 Torch Literary Arts to Celebrate and Amplify Black Women Writers During the 2024 Texas Book Festival Over two days, Torch will host poet, essayist, and novelist Morgan Parker and Los Angeles Poet Laureate Lynne Thompson, and embark on a literary book crawl showcasing the works of the organization’s previous features. Read More Oct 18, 2024 Torch Literary Arts Welcomes New Team Members Thanks to capacity-building funding, Torch adds a Creative Content Associate and Administrative Fellow to the Team. Read More Oct 7, 2024 Celebrating National Book Month with Torch Literary Arts This October, Torch is celebrating National Book Month with Torch Day, an inaugural international program, and much more! Read More Sep 6, 2024 Torch Announces the Nominations for the Best of the Net Nine Torch Features were nominated for their works in creative nonfiction, fiction, poetry, and visual art in Torch Magazine. Read More Sep 5, 2024 Torch Literary Arts Receives National Book Foundation Grant The National Book Foundation awarded Torch funding from the Capacity-Building Grant Program. Read More Aug 30, 2024 Torch Announces the Nominations for the O. Henry Prize Two Torch Features, Felicia A. Rivers and Lydia Mathis, are nominated for their respective short fiction stories. Read More Aug 29, 2024 Torch Literary Arts Releases 2024 Fall Season Torch’s 2024 Fall Season includes international poets, a screenwriting panel, workshops on character building and memoirs, the Wildfire Reading Series, and more! Read More Aug 2, 2024 Celebrate Torch’s 18th Birthday & Our Mission to Amplify Black Women Writers Our wish this August is to gain 18 new monthly recurring Torch supporters & more! Find out how to celebrate our birthday with events, well wishes, and donations. Read More Jul 19, 2024 Torch Literary Arts Welcomes Erin Waelder to the Board of Directors Erin was welcomed to the board in June, bringing her extensive background in development communications. Read More Jul 12, 2024 Torch Literary Arts Receives Poetry Foundation Grant Torch Literary Arts (Torch), a nonprofit organization dedicated to amplifying Black women writers, will receive funding from the Poetry Foundation. This is the nonprofit’s second year receiving funding from the foundation. Read More Jun 28, 2024 Torch Literary Arts Receives Burdine Johnson Foundation Grant This is Torch's third year receiving the grant that serves Central Texas arts, education, historical preservation, and environmental sustainability causes. Read More Jun 5, 2024 Celebrate Pride Month by Amplifying Queer Black Voices At Torch, we recognize the many impactful contributions that queer Black women writers have given us and wish a Happy Pride to all those celebrating! Read More May 31, 2024 Torch Feature Yael Valencia Aldana Receives Pushcart Prize For the second year in a row, a Torch Feature has received a Pushcart Prize for their amazing work published in Torch Magazine. Read More May 24, 2024 Torch Literary Arts to Receive Grants for Arts Allocation from the National Endowment for the Arts This is Torch's second year receiving funding from National Endowment for the Arts. Funding will go towards artist honorariums for retreats, workshops, panels, and readings. Read More Apr 12, 2024 Torch Announces the 2024 Retreat Fellows Eight fellows were selected to attend the second annual retreat for Black women writers at the Colton House in Austin, Texas from July 21-28, 2024. Read More Apr 11, 2024 Torch Literary Arts Welcomes Dana Weekes to Board of Directors Dana Weekes was welcomed to the board in March, bringing her extensive background in law and policy, and commitment to creation as self-care. Read More Apr 5, 2024 Celebrating National Poetry Month with an Ode to Poets Every April, Torch is elated to celebrate the Black women who put words to feelings by celebrating National Poetry Month Read More Mar 22, 2024 Website Updates: New Transparency Documents, Including Three-Year Strategic Plan Torch Literary Arts updates website to include transparency documents including IRS Form 990s, Annual Reports, and the 2024-2026 Strategic Plan. Read More Mar 8, 2024 Celebrating Women’s History Month and International Women’s Day Torch Literary Arts acknowledges and celebrates the many literary contributions of women to history and the wonderful Black women writers across the diaspora. Read More Feb 16, 2024 Torch Literary Arts Opens Applications for the 2024 Torch Retreat The Torch Retreat will host its second annual writing retreat for Black women writers at the Colton House in Austin, Texas from July 21-28, 2024. Read More Feb 9, 2024 Celebrating Black History & Futures 24/7, 366 days This Black History Month, Torch acknowledges the importance of amplifying Black women writers year-round. Read More Jan 30, 2024 Austin Community Foundation Announces Torch Literary Arts as one of The Black Fund Grant Partners The Black Fund’s recognition of Torch Literary Arts as a grant partner allows Torch to continue hosting special events for Black women writers in the Austin community. Read More Jan 26, 2024 Torch Literary Arts Unveils 2024 Spring Season Torch’s 2024 Spring Season is full of workshops, panels, an interactive literary cooking event, and much more to help Black women writers share their unique stories. Read More Jan 16, 2024 Torch Literary Arts Announces Transitions to 2024 Board of Directors This year’s board transition includes the retirement of former board chair, Florinda Bryant, and elections of new board chair, Dr. Sequoia Maner, new secretary, Stephanie Lang, and new board member, Shannon Johnson Read More Jan 9, 2024 Culture Ireland Awards Torch Literary Arts Funding to Host Irish Poets Torch will use the Culture Ireland funding to host Irish poets Nithy Kasa and FELISPEAKS for interactive writing workshops from October 1-7, 2024. Read More
- Wintergreen Women Writers Collective and Torch Literary Arts Partner to Host Welcome Table Talks Series featuring Black Women Writers | Torch Literary Arts
< Back Wintergreen Women Writers Collective and Torch Literary Arts Partner to Host Welcome Table Talks Series featuring Black Women Writers Feb 10, 2025 The two literary organizations dedicated to creating community for Black women writers will host a series of talks over the next three years thanks to funding from the Mellon Foundation. Wintergreen Women Writers Collective (Wintergreen) and Torch Literary Arts (Torch) are embarking on an intergenerational three-year project for Black women writers called Welcome Table Talks. The virtual discussions will cover various topics related to organization building, literary freedom, legacy, and more. The virtual discussions are free and open to all. The first Welcome Table Talks event will be held on Tuesday, March 11, at 7 p.m. EST. Executive directors from both literary organizations will discuss the journey of building their respective institutions and the changing needs of leadership. Whether you’re a grassroots organizer or starting a nonprofit, this inaugural talk is perfect for self-starters looking for insight. You can RSVP to the first discussion here . “ Wintergreen has been providing a sacred space for women writers since 1987 when I invited Nikki Giovanni to meet other Black women writers in Virginia. In what was still an unwelcoming academic atmosphere, we came together to affirm the vibrancy of Black literary culture and our vital place in it, ” said Dr. Joanne Gabbin, executive director of Wintergreen. In 1987, renowned author and activist Nikki Giovanni moved to Virginia as a Commonwealth Visiting Professor at Virginia Tech. In her honor, Dr Joanne Gabbin organized a small gathering of Black women writers at Wintergreen Resort. What began that day as a simple celebration of sisterhood and life blossomed into something much more. Now, almost four decades later, the Wintergreen Women Writers Collective offers workshops, retreats, and opportunities for Black women writers to connect, hone their craft, and gain exposure. By doing this, the Collective sustains a literary sisterhood focused on "Sacred Work"—creating in a safe, welcoming space that centers the encouragement and support of Black writing and culture, by nurturing each of the women as writers, scholars, and artists. At this literary site, members have workshopped and critiqued each other's work, offering guidance not only on pedagogy but even on publishing, promoting, and naming books. Annual retreats have served as nourishing spaces for seeds of ideas that resulted in programs, conferences, centers, and organizations. The Collective's range of public and private work has produced a supportive environment for the formation of mission-aligned institutions and organizations like Furious Flower, History of Black Writing, and Cave Canem. The Collective provides a haven for generational perspectives where emerging writers learn from senior writers and in turn spark new ideas. It is a place where the women go to heal, transform, and renew themselves. It provides a way to support systemic change in our communities while bringing about personal transformation. This work contributes to the Mellon-funded implementation project by Wintergreen entitled “The Women Gather.” One area of key development the funding supports is building strategic partnerships with mission-aligned organizations like Torch. “I’m excited to witness the magic this event produces,” said Amanda Johnston, founder and executive director of Torch Literary Arts. “When we provide space to learn from each other while simultaneously encouraging emerging writers and future leaders, we are creating invaluable resources and inspiring unimaginable work.” You can find out more about Wintergreen by visiting their website at wintergreenwomenwriterscollective.com , and more about their pilot partnership, Torch, at torchliteraryarts.org . ### About Wintergreen Writers Collective The Wintergreen Women Writers Collective is a 501(c)3 organization that gathers Black women writers in a literary community that seeks to publish, document, preserve, and celebrate their creative work. More than 70 women from all over the country have taken part in one or more of the Wintergreen retreats or programs over the last 38 years, coming to a place where they can do the sacred work of literary and cultural production. Wintergreen Women are prefiguring a world where the history and legacy of Black women writers are honored and preserved — a world where Black women writers have access to intergenerational spaces where, in community and mutuality, they can nurture one another and locate resources to support their creative practice. Members of the Collective share their knowledge and creativity as a way of encouraging and engaging one another and their extended literary and scholarly communities. About Torch Literary Arts Torch Literary Arts is a 501(c)3 nonprofit established with love and intention in 2006 to publish and promote creative writing by Black women. We publish contemporary writing by experienced and emerging writers alike. Torch Magazine has featured work by Toi Derricotte, Tayari Jones, Sharon Bridgforth, Crystal Wilkinson, Patricia Smith, Natasha Trethewey, and others. Programs include the Wildfire Reading Series, writing workshops, and retreats. Media Contact Information: Brittany Heckard Communications Associate bheckard@torchliteraryarts.org (512) 641-9251 Previous Next