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Jordan Bolden Majewski (she/they) is a Black queer poet and essayist living in the Bay Area. Her work explores the embodied experience of Black motherhood in its full spectrum– the many dangers, surprises, and joys. Bolden Majewski’s work has always been grounded in the body– the places we touch and pull away, the ways we hurt and are healed, the things we carry inside ourselves that we hold apart from others. They write about the systems we must carry our bodies through– the medical system which fails Black women intentionally, repeatedly, and dangerously, and the education system which echoes the same failings with a callous neglect for Black children. Through the lens of motherhood, they are interested in the ways racism entangles itself in our intimate and daily relationships and routines, especially as they parent their three children surrounded by mostly white parents. Bolden Majewski seeks to highlight childhood from a place of agency and dignity, and wonders how that might change our politics. Their work appears or is forthcoming in Prairie Schooner, The Rumpus, Shenandoah, Crab Orchard Review, and The Panafold. She received an MFA in Poetry from New York University, and is currently at work on a poetry manuscript and a collection of essays. Lot His family flees, but Lot’s wife cannot resist a parting look on her home, the land where she walked dusty streets each morning to pull water from a deep well for her children, her tears crystallizing into long white rivulets down coarse salt cheeks cast in shadow. I walk over one block and down Bedford, sun bursting from concrete as I exit the train. I’m walking quickly past another woman. In her wake, I catch a man’s voice saying … pussy! Ohh— you smell nice. I smell you! I pass through words meant for her and they hang in my hair like smoke. What do you call the clean, round way words spring from meanness? If the lyric is a distillation of time, let me break, for you, the sudden-quick slap of another woman’s body in a strange man’s mouth against my skin. How to stop myself from turning? In the bible, Lot offers his virgin daughters to the crowd of ravenous men gathered rather than allow the men to harm the angels bringing destruction on Sodom. No one calls for help. This morning, I turn a corner. A man fills the avenue and grabs me as if my body were a song he wanted to play. This world, full of stories in which someone turns and a woman disappears. ### 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.

Aline-Mwezi Niyonsenga is a third culture kid who’s allergic to place. She writes about migrant experiences with the help of a tornado auntie, lion goddess, immortal witch, the occasional ghost, etc. Her work has recently been published in Uncanny Magazine, Augur Magazine, Andromeda Spaceways, GigaNotoSaurus, Fantasy Magazine, and FIYAH Literary Magazine. It has also appeared in anthologies such as As the Earth Dreams: Black Canadian Speculative Stories and Africa Risen. You can find links to her works on her website: aline-mweziniyonsenga.com/ My Friend the Lord of the Forest Like her missing cousin had advised, Gabi focused on one thing over studying: making friends. This was easy. As soon as she landed in the grey iciness of a foreign autumn, in a flat city of sharp rectangular lines, Gabi joined the community association and attended its youth conference event. This was a good distraction from her cousin’s disappearance. She could pretend his messages from a month ago were sent just yesterday. Introduce yourself clearly. Enunciate. Ask people about themselves. They’ll immediately feel closer to you. People love to talk about themselves. Gabi had laughed at the advice. She had no trouble being social. Her cousin had pointed out that she had spent most of her life among family at home, among friends at school. She didn’t have enough practice with meeting new people—total strangers, her cousin had stressed. He had been the same before he studied abroad. He didn’t want her to make the same mistakes. “Channel your inner Lord of the Forest,” her cousin had said. “Strong. Confident. Like you rule over trees.” Gabi had laughed. Her cousin would always make silly references to his favourite made-up character: the Lord of the Forest, both beast and mighty king. Gabi didn’t understand her cousin’s admiration, but the silliness of the memory was a good distraction. At the youth conference, Gabi ignored her freezing wet flats and laughed with other smartly blazered young people. “We haven’t seen you before. Where are you from?” was the common refrain. Questions of location, high school, university flew across the room. Common points were highly sought after. Once found, shoulders loosened. Then a man leaned close to Gabi’s ear and said, “You’re Ingabire, right? I know your cousin, _____.” Ice rubbed down her neck. Her nametag said Gabi. Not once had she introduced herself in full. “Oh, really? My cousin?” She hadn’t told this man where she was from. Her brain struggled to place him as the nerves in her chest squirmed with wary confusion. He wasn’t in the family group chat. Her cousin’s name was no longer mentioned there because who knew who was watching. “Yes, I read his article,” the man said. He didn’t introduce himself. “I study information technology. Where do you study?” “I’m job hunting,” Gabi said, and waved at someone behind him. She made three rounds around the velvety room, feet burning. In the bathroom she sobbed with her fist in her mouth. She grabbed her coat and left. Outside, a warm wind surprised Gabi, followed by a fleeting shadow. A big dog running past, Gabi reasoned. A big, big dog. Strangest of all was the smell of wet soil that lingered. # After the conference encounter, Gabi spiraled. Normal guests would come to her aunt’s house, but their questions unnerved her. Who knew who was watching. “I’m sorry about your cousin,” one friend of a friend said. Gabi avoided further visits. She hibernated at school throughout the winter, morning to night, weekends at the library. She spoke to no one. Would they ask about her cousin? Would they watch her every move? Would they report back? Her cousin was still missing. Him and his obsession with the Lord of the Forest. Gabi’s cousin was obsessed with one umugani he heard in primary school: the story of Sebwugugu. It was about a foolish husband and the poor wife who bore with his foolishness until he got himself killed. A ferocious beast killed him, so his wife kept house with an axe in her hand, ready to kill it should it come back. One day someone did knock at her door, introducing himself as the Lord of the Forest. Go away, beast! the wife said. I know who you truly are. Gabi didn’t remember how her cousin described it, but the Lord of the Forest was able to show that he was a noble individual who ruled justly over the forest and its creatures. I cannot ignore a woman alone. I simply wished to see you well. He might have left her gifts or the help of ten enchanted ploughs to help her through her harvest, but eventually she trusted him as someone more dependable than her husband, and they married. At this point, Gabi would snort, “That’s not even the right version of the story. A beast killed her husband, yes, but then the woman killed it, and the chief of a nearby village found out and rewarded her for getting rid of something that had killed his people. She married the chief.” “I’m asking you to imagine,” her cousin would say. “Imagine if the chief and the beast were the same. Then the Lord of the Forest would be like a metaphor for protecting our trees.” Her cousin had studied environmental science. “Imagine if he was still around to protect forests today. There’d be less deforestation, less bandits and poachers hiding in there.” Her cousin had written an article—a personal essay, he called it—about the Lord of the Forest and forest conservation, the dangers of overdevelopment, all in an effort to promote an equal exchange with nature, and pay it respect. Five months had passed since Gabi’s cousin went missing. Four months since her arrival abroad. The snow thawed. Her aunt must have complained, because her mother was urging her to say hi to so-and-so, to meet with so-and-so’s daughter, to show her face at parties. To pretend everything was normal for who knows who is watching. So when Gabi saw a poster for a student club, she decided to join. # Gabi joined Sanctuary Club on a sunny Monday afternoon. A place where everyone is welcome. You can make friends, or you can enjoy silence together. Arts and crafts activities are provided. The sun was setting later and later every day, making Gabi wonder if one day it wouldn’t set at all. The colourful people of Sanctuary Club were even stranger, with their dyed hair and clinking bracelets, studying degrees her parents would never pay for her to study. Their club president was a taller-than-tall man named Murugo, who smelled like Vaseline and eucalyptus. For the first time in months, Gabi felt she was at home. Murugo played an RnB playlist mixed with amapiano and old songs from home, while the club crocheted or glued magazine clippings to pieces of construction paper. Gabi did not know how to crochet, so she picked up a pair of scissors and an old student magazine. Murugo sat across from her. Up close, she could smell wet soil. It reminded her of the southern bamboo forest back home, where it was said Ngunda fell. She thought of swaying bamboo shoots. She cut a whole background of them off the magazine and glued it onto a blue piece of paper. “Where are you from?” she asked Murugo. “Gisenyi. I came here a long time ago, in the 90s.” He didn’t look that much older than her. He must have been a baby. They skirted around the topic of genocide and spoke instead about school and what was missing on the playlist. Murugo was also studying environmental science. Maybe because Murugo grew up outside, Gabi felt safe to speak about her own two siblings, her extended family, but nothing about her missing cousin. An old poet crowed over the Bluetooth stereo. Gabi snorted. “You’re like a grandpa.” But the steady drumming and keening words made her eyes water. Her cousin loved this song. Murugo had no siblings. No parents. Gabi bit the inside of her cheek upon hearing it. At least her cousin was not dead. He couldn’t be. Her first piece of art was a forest of smiling faces, the words rest and family big across the middle. The word rest reminded her of death, so she ripped that part off the artwork, crumpled the whole thing, and threw it away. No one questioned this. # Murugo hummed while he worked, a habit that reminded Gabi of her cousin, and for a moment she felt safe in the knowledge that somewhere somehow her cousin was humming. He was safe. The club didn’t have an end time, but Gabi left before sunset. When she left the club room for the day, Murugo’s hum would carry into the hallway, following her all the way outside like a low buzzing in her eardrums. Her cousin was safe. He must be. # Once during club time, Murugo stretched his arms up and yawned. His shirt was cropped so Gabi saw the scar on his belly, like the bullet scar her grandfather had, and suddenly she could see the bullet holes under the kitchen window in her grandparents’ house. Her cousin’s article mentioned how her grandparents had never found out who was shooting. Was it bandits? The old regime? One thing was for sure: they had come from the north. The article could have had to do with his disappearance. That’s what her family thought. He had been on his way to renew his passport and didn’t come back. The article had to be the reason, but sometimes there are no reasons. Sometimes family just disappears, and the people who took them never tell you why. Tears welled up in Gabi’s eyes, dripping onto the words family, lost, and found. She left the clubroom. Murugo followed her. “I’m just going to the bathroom,” she said. “I know a good place to cry.” He led her up a set of stairs, and more stairs, until they reached a door that pushed onto a roof alive with whirring sounds. Fans spun at the corners of a verdant paradise of potted ferns that formed a square around a swinging bench adorned with vines. The air was warm like home. The plants were outstretched arms like home. Gabi’s tears fell like so much rain back home. Murugo pointed to the swinging bench and said he’d be right back. Gabi let herself sink into the bench’s plush cushions. She wrung her tears out, wailing just loud enough to blend with the chorus of fans and mechanical whirs surrounding the garden. It all became a hum of noise, steady like a lullaby. Gabi woke to a tap on her shoulder. Murugo handed her a wad of tissues and she blew her nose. She hugged a cushion while he watered the plants with a plastic can. He scratched his belly, where the scar was. “How did you get shot?” she asked. Murugo looked out at the pinking sky. It was almost sunset already. “Bandits.” Of course. “My cousin is missing.” Gabi bit the inside of her lip to steady it. “They want to hold a funeral for him.” It hadn’t been a year yet, but did his family want to wait that long? One year would be agony for them, unspeakable for him. Better to believe he was dead. It was eight months since his disappearance. Murugo wrapped an arm around her shoulder, and she leaned into him. As the sky blued, his arm warmed like fur. # “I remember the forest,” Murugo said. “It was vast back then. I’d climb the tallest tree and look out at everything. It smelled like damp leaves, like fresh oxygen, like soil. There were so many birds back then. And the mountain gorillas. They were many. I remember that white woman would be around them a lot. That was when the forest was smelling more and more like gunpowder, more like diesel. I heard more gunshots, people who didn’t belong running around. People fleeing.” Gabi tuned in around the mention of gunshots. “You remember all that?” He didn’t look older than thirty. He must have been a child. “I had to flee in the end.” Their silence skirted around war again, and the snip-snip of scissors carried them through the afternoon. Gabi glued a forest scene again. It had a monkey (she couldn’t find gorillas), birds, and a man with darker skin than Murugo. The only word she cut out was home. # Murugo announced he was travelling for a few months. The new club president was a pale girl with longish teeth. Good-bye was a brief hug and a promise to exchange song recommendations. Gabi swallowed her loneliness and redoubled her focus on her studies. One time she went up to the roof to cry, but the door was locked. Through the fogged-up window she saw grey shapes, like sleeping beasts in the gloom, and she remembered dozing on Murugo’s shoulder, how it had warmed like fur. “I promise you. Your cousin will be found,” he’d said. Gabi had chuckled. “You can’t promise that.” “I simply wish to see you well.” That day, Gabi left the clubroom after sunset. As she walked down the hall, noise exploded from the clubroom. Laughter morphed into barking. Shouts became howls. And there was a new smell, like wet soil, the same smell from the night at the youth conference, now coming from the room. Gabi walked away fast, following an instinct against trouble. The smell of wet soil lingered in her nostrils, following her all the way home. A shadow slipped under the streetlights. A big dog running past. A big, big dog. # Gabi ditched Sanctuary Club to form a study group with two people she met at a party her aunt dragged her to. They became fast friends. Their taste in music was fresh, not like Murugo’s grandpa's taste. She joked about this with her new friends. They teased her about how she might like him. The funeral was postponed. Gabi exhaled then remembered it didn’t mean her cousin was any less missing. She forgot how to inhale and spent the next few weeks relearning how. A second time she went up to the roof, but it was bare. The whirring came from generators, no fans, only a cold wind, reminding her of the day she first set foot on this strange country. It was supposed to be a new start, distance from her cousin’s disappearance, but the fact of his absence haunted her still. Her breath stuck in her throat and stayed there through winter. She holed up in library study rooms, this time with people she could laugh with. Her throat loosened just a little. A year and a half since her cousin went missing. She learned to breathe around the absence clogging her throat. A third time she went up to the roof to cry, but the door was locked. The window was too dirty to see through. It shone like the white haze of a winter storm. This time Gabi sank against the door. Was it even the right door? Had the verdant garden been a dream? Her phone vibrated. She ignored it. Ten missed calls passed from her mother. Gabi rubbed her eyes dry and called back, both wishing for and dreading the moment her mother picked up. “Gabi,” her mother sniffled. She didn’t like that tone. Gabi reached for the locked door behind her. She yanked on its handle, as if it might help her escape. “Is he dead?” Gabi asked. The lock clicked, a clear sound in the trembling silence. Gabi tumbled onto the roof. The white haze broke into golden sunlight over the verdant garden, alive again with potted ferns arranged in a square around its creaking swing. Vines wrapped around the swing, and Gabi pulled on one of its leaves as she sat on the swing’s cushions. The smell of wet soil filled her nostrils. “Your cousin is back,” her mother said. “Kasha is back.” Gabi’s throat loosened into a squeak. “Alive?” The sound of a hum grew deeper than the whirring fans. Gabi lowered her phone to listen, checking behind her. A fleeting shadow blinked past. A dog running. A big, big dog. “Gabi?” Her mother’s voice faintly bleated through her fingers. “Are you there?” Water poured from a plastic can, showering the ferns in the garden. Gabi did not have to see the face that did it. She knew who it truly was. “Murugo?” The air was wet soil, the smell of home. Her cousin was home, but the Lord of the Forest was not. ### 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.

Desiree Cooper is a Pulitzer Prize-nominated columnist, award-winning author, and a member of the Wintergreen Women Writers Collective. Desiree Cooper is a 2015 Kresge Artist Fellow, former attorney, and Pulitzer Prize-nominated journalist, and editor of the groundbreaking 2026 anthology, Black Summers: Growing up in the Urban Outdoors. Her debut collection of flash fiction, Know the Mother, won numerous awards, including the 2017 Next Generation Indie Book Award. Cooper’s fiction, poetry, and essays have appeared in The New York Times, Oprah Daily, MSNBC Daily, Flash Fiction America 2023, Michigan Quarterly Review, The Rumpus, River Teeth, Best African American Fiction 2010, and noted in The Best American Essays 2019. Cooper’s children’s picture book, Nothing Special, is a 2023 Paterson Prize winner and included on the New York Public Library’s “10 Best Children’s Books of 2022.” Cooper is a founding board member of Cave Canem, a former board member of Furious Flower Poetry Center, a Kimbilio fellow, and a current member of the Wintergreen Women Writers Collective. After spending 30 years in Detroit, she now lives in coastal Virginia where she is raising her three grandchildren. Hell and High Water In 1948, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled in Bob-Lo Excursion Co. v. State of Michigan that a Detroit amusement park ferry could not ban African Americans from riding the boat. The little-known case was initiated by 24-year-old Sarah Elizabeth Ray and championed by the NAACP. It was one of many cases that helped pave the way to the seminal 1954 Brown v. Board of Education decision striking down racial segregation in American public schools. When did Sarah Elizabeth Ray, a skinny, colored girl from Wautachuie, Tennessee, decide to take up the torch of righteousness? Perhaps it was in July 1945, as the twenty-four-year-old stepped onto the upper deck of the steamer Columbia, which ferried passengers down the Detroit River to a Summerland amusement park. The waves lapped the hull, ready to buoy her on a celebration journey. It was her secretarial school graduation day, and she was headed to Bob-Lo Island, the place of Ferris wheel dreams. Look at her, a school dropout, now a certified secretary, floating above the city on the top deck of the steamer, along with her twelve white classmates. She marveled at her bird’s-eye view of the world–until she saw the uniformed white men approaching. Her body filled with that familiar dread, but she stood fast. Surely they would see that she was now educated, that white people were her friends, that her polka-dotted dress was brand new from Kresge’s, her shoes were shined up with Vaseline, her demeanor was bright and respectable. The men insisted that she follow them; the boat was no place for coloreds or zoot-suiters. The magical ferry became an ark of white power. Her classmates silently watched as her Judas teacher said: “She will go quietly.” The very one who’d invited her along–who had deemed her “witty for a nigra”--had tossed her overboard. On the dock, Sarah held her refunded fare, but the worthless coins singed her palm. As the ship set sail, she flung the money into the cold, dark river. There had to be a moment before that one on Columbia, before she walked straight into the Detroit office of the NAACP to file a complaint. It takes patience to become a controlled burn. She’d kept the old embers warm–like the ones that were lit that day in 1935 when she was waiting for a train in Chattanooga. There she is, standing on the colored end of the platform, her arm looped in the arm of that boy, Frank Ray, the twenty-two-year-old from Jersey who opened her nose for freedom in the North. You can see them grinning hope-drunk as the train chugs into the station; they can’t wait to take their final ride out of that white trash, backwoods town. Sarah smugly hands the purser her ticket to Detroit, where she heard that Negroes walked with their heads up high. Look at her, spitting on the tracks before she and Frank step aboard. No, these notions blaze slowly, like a tallowed wick. Sarah didn’t light the fuse in that instant she was kicked off the Bob-Lo Boat. Or, even when she was a teenager with a one-way ticket out of bumfuck Tennessee. It had to be that day outside of the five and dime, when her mother tried to make her greet that greasy EmmaJean Lester, a redneck who wasn’t so poor she couldn’t boss niggers around. “You a skinny thing, ain’t ya?” the white lady says, bending over to pinch the skin of the black child’s cheek, which even then stretched taut against her regal bones. “Say ‘yass’m,’ Sarah!” her mother coaches, tugging her arm nervously. The little girl levels her hot gaze, then deliberately pronounces, “Yes, Miz Lester,” just as pretty as you please. Her mother’s eyebrows rise in sync with EmmaJean Lester’s. Both of them know to leave well enough alone; they’d never get a “yass’m” from Sarah Elizabeth. Not now, not ever. Months before that, the school board noted that there were only two nigger families in all of Hamilton County, Tennessee. That wasn't enough to justify the expense of a school bus to tote them to the shack behind the schoolhouse. If they wanted to come to school, they’d have to walk the five miles there and back. So, at six years old, Sarah walked, her eyes tearing with grit as a bus full of white children rolled past her every morning. The county finally found a white man to take Sarah to school on his way into town to get slops for his pigs. School was her way up and out, so she clambered onto the back of the truck eagerly. The method of travel never mattered much to Sarah; the only thing that mattered was where she was going. She learned cursive by practice. She learned to calculate in her head. She learned the meaning of words like “dignity'' by being forced to live the opposite. Wherever that notion started--on the back of a slop truck, outside the five and dime, in the colored car of a northbound train, at the sound of the timer when she realized she was the fastest typist in her class--it finally ignited that summer day on the Detroit River, there on the top deck, when Sarah Elizabeth Ray’s classmates, pink with privilege, did nothing to help her as the steward tossed her from the Bob-Lo Boat. There was nowhere else for the fire to go. So she laid it upon the river of injustice, stood back, and watched it burn. THE INTERVIEW This interview was conducted between Desiree Cooper and Jae Nichelle on March 13, 2026. It is so wonderful to read “Hell and High Water” and learn about Sarah Elizabeth Ray. Can you take us back to when you first encountered this story and what moved you to do deeper research? I encountered Sarah Elizabeth Ray’s story when working as a columnist for the Detroit Free Press. A reader told me about the forgotten civil rights pioneer who had integrated an amusement park ferry in 1948. Evidently, she was living alone on the city’s east side. I interviewed Sarah Ray in early 2006 and shined a light on her U.S. Supreme Court win years before Rosa Parks’s infamous bus ride. She passed away at age 88, just months after the article was published. In 2019, filmmaker Aaron Schillinger was researching the Boblo Boats and came across my article about Sarah’s integration fight. He reached out to me and we established the Sarah E. Ray Project to raise awareness about her contributions to civil rights. We held community lectures, engaged school systems, got her inducted into the Michigan Women’s Hall of Fame, and even brought her to the attention of the New York Times. Her obituary is now included in the New York Times’ book, Overlooked, which celebrates “underappreciated people who broke the rules and changed the world.” This piece was a catalyst for your Black Summers anthology. What was the process of bringing this project to life? What are you most excited about? Sarah Ray was part of the Great Migration—the era when Black folks fled the terror of the Jim Crow South and profoundly changed America’s cities. I wondered if she were alive today, how would she view the fruits of her battle? The anthology was an attempt to let the children and grandchildren of the Great Migration answer that question. Each contributor considers how race continues to shape their ability simply to enjoy public spaces. Because I had lived in Detroit for almost 30 years and had been a journalist there, I knew many gifted writers (both experienced and new) who I invited into the project. Detroit’s Wayne State University Press immediately embraced the proposal. Detroit artist Senghor Reid gave us permission to use his art on the cover. The result is Black Summers, a completely homegrown effort that took three years to develop and publish. Despite its central focus on Detroit, the collection reflects the common experiences of African Americans who fled to cities in the North and West to find sanctuary. What excites me most is the prospect of starting conversations among Blacks across the nation about how race continues to impact how they engage with the urban outdoors. I expect there to be as much discussion about racial barriers as there will be about the creative ways our people have insisted upon joy. What do you miss most about living in Detroit? What has the return to Virginia, your parents' homeplace, given you? I MISS EVERYTHING ABOUT DETROIT! It’s where I grew into adulthood, raised a family, and developed lifelong friendships. Folks know a lot about the city’s struggles, but they know far less about the artists, food scene, and history that permeates the city. It’s a great town and it has done a lot of work around creating inviting, inclusive outdoor spaces. I left Detroit ten years ago to care for my aging parents in Virginia. They both have passed, and I’m now raising my grandchildren in the home that my parents prepared for us. At 66, I’m amazed at how fate has given me this opportunity to come full circle. I love Virginia as much as I love Detroit, and being here has taken me inward in profound ways. The slower lifestyle, long summers, ancestral roots, and proximity to the ocean have fed me as a writer. I feel like I’m in the season of “off-loading” – thinking and writing about things that have dwelled inside me for decades. Your children’s book, Nothing Special, is inspired by your family and showcases that movement between Detroit and Virginia across generations. What literary choices did you make while writing for an audience of children? As someone who writes across many genres, did this project feel like it worked new or different creative muscles? During the Great Migration, my father, who was born and raised in rural Virginia, enlisted in the military instead of moving North. Despite 20 years of travel in the Air Force, there was never any question that “home” would always be Virginia for us. Even as I carved out a life in Detroit, we journeyed South every summer to maintain our connections. This is a story repeated by countless African Americans in Northern cities, and one that I wanted to honor in Nothing Special. The children’s book does not speak of the pain of separation that the migrating families experienced, nor of the sacrifices our ancestors made as they sought equal opportunity in the North. Instead, it only speaks to the permanence and value of the “home place,” no matter where we go. We were torn from our families and our land by terror, not by choice. We continue to observe the family reunion as both ritual and relief. Children will see Nothing Special as a multi-generational buddy book. Their parents (including those of other backgrounds who have migrated away from their origins) will recognize the historical underpinnings, and the unbreakable kinship ties that bind. As a journalist and flash writer, I gravitate to the short form. So, writing a children’s book was not a stretch for me in terms of structure. But children’s books require a close collaboration with the illustrator. In Nothing Special, fabric artist Bec Sloane hand-created each character and everything in the scenes, then photographed the work. It was a stunning experience to watch her bring my father to life again through art. We negotiated countless details, and decided which part of the story would be conveyed by the words, and which would be conveyed by the art. It was an unforgettable experience. As a founding board member of Cave Canem and a current member of The Wintergreen Women Writers Collective, can you speak to how you see the state of Black literary organizations and institutions today? What are your hopes for the future? Black writers changed the arc of my life: from the first time I read The Bluest Eye as a child, to breathing the air of poets with Cave Canem, to finding sustenance and sisterhood with Wintergreen. Each time that I was unsure about my worth, hesitant about my voice, or questioning my belonging, Black arms pulled me close and pushed me forward. The Black writing community continues to play that role in my life (and following their example, I try to play that role for other Black writers). But there’s much more at stake now. Sometimes, I worry that Black literary organizations will not survive the current socio-political climate. I forget that we are a network of necessity, and that we will double down on our commitment to Black voices, no matter what. I’m heartened that our literary organizations are having many joint conversations about strengthening our roots, expanding our missions, and ensuring our long-term viability. The collaboration between Torch Literary Arts and the Wintergreen Women Writers Collective to offer the “Welcome Table Talk” is one powerful example. My hope for the future is that these organizations and the writers they serve will emerge stronger than ever. Do you have a go-to karaoke song or a song that always gets you in the mood to dance? Hands down, “Groove is in the Heart,” by Dee-Lite feat. Bootsy Collins How can people support you right now? They can support me by supporting Black Summers: Invitations for community readings and college visits, posting about it on social media, including me on podcasts, and suggesting it for book clubs. Toward a longer view, being intentional about supporting Black authors and donating to organizations that sustain Black voices is mission critical. Name another Black woman writer people should know. Jean Alicia Elster has been out there for a long time writing great books for young readers. Her latest book, How It Happens, is a YA novel about the women in a Black family that moved from the South to Detroit. It deals with rape and colorism. It’s a great book. ### 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. Click here to support Torch Literary Arts.

Latest News Jun 28, 2026 Thanking Our Funders for their Support for Black Women Writers In our 20th Anniversary year, seven major funders are stepping up to support Torch’s mission to amplify Black women writers. Read More Jun 1, 2026 June is a Celebratory Time for Black Women Writers This June, we’re celebrating queerness, Black Texans, Caribbean heritage, and lyricists who bring their magic and impact to the Torch community. Read More Apr 29, 2026 Torch Announces First Ever Nominations for Best New Poets Anthology Two Torch Features, Tiezst "Tie" Taylor and Mecca M. Miles, are Torch’s inaugural nominees for their outstanding poems. Read More Apr 2, 2026 Celebrating 20 Years of Highlighting Black Women in Poetry Torch is elated to celebrate National Poetry Month and the Black women poets in our community. Read More Mar 31, 2026 Torch Literary Arts Announces New Board Member Dalia Azim joins the Torch board, bringing her expertise in literary programming and partnerships in the Austin literary community. Read More Mar 12, 2026 Torch Literary Arts to Open Registration for “A Gathering of Flames: Celebrating 20 Years of Torch Literary Arts” on March 16th The inaugural gala and conference will feature Rachel Eliza Griffiths, Sharon Bridgforth, Patricia Smith, and Crystal Wilkinson from September 25-27, 2026, in Austin, Texas. Read More Mar 6, 2026 Celebrating Women and a Sustainable Future with Torch This year’s Women’s History Month Theme urges us to celebrate women who are taking charge in regard to sustainability, and this International Women’s Day urges us to give to gain. Read More Mar 3, 2026 Torch Returns to the 2026 AWP Conference in Baltimore For four days, Torch will join other writing organizations, writers, publishers, students, and more at the largest literary conference in the country. Read More Feb 27, 2026 Torch Literary Arts Welcomes New Team Member Torch adds a new position, Administrative Associate, to help with daily operations and support the needs of Torch Center. Read More Feb 5, 2026 Austin Film Society Joins Torch Literary Arts as New Community Partners The two organizations will amplify a series of film screenings showcasing Black women screenwriters, directors, and films that reflect Black culture. Read More Feb 1, 2026 Celebrating the Milestones of Community and History through Literary Greatness and Storytelling this Black History Month This year’s Black History Month theme, “A Century of Black History Commemorations,” urges us to acknowledge the historical impact of Black narratives. Read More Jan 29, 2026 Kicking Off 20 Years with the Spring 2026 Season Torch’s Spring 2026 Season builds on the history we've made in our 20 years of strengthening the literary community of Black women writers. Read More Jan 29, 2026 Important Transitions to Torch's Board of Directors This board transition includes the retirement of former board treasurer, Candace Lopez, election of new board treasurer, Dana Weekes, and the election of new board secretary, Rachel Winston. Read More Jan 28, 2026 Torch to Raise $10,000 during one of Austin’s Largest Giving Days Torch joins over 700 nonprofits during Amplify Austin to raise funds for Black women writers. Read More Jan 2, 2026 Celebrating a New Year with a Growing Community Taking the time to thank you all for your support in 2025 and share exciting news for 2026. Read More Dec 29, 2025 Ending the Year Strong with Community Impact and Growth Taking time to thank you all for your support in 2025 and share plans to end the year strong. Read More Dec 9, 2025 A Big Thank You to Our Major Funders In 2025, seven major funders supported Torch’s mission to amplify Black women writers. Read More Dec 5, 2025 Torch Raises $5,593 for 2025 GivingTuesday Campaign Joining one of the largest international giving days, Torch raised $5,593. Read More Dec 1, 2025 Torch Announces the 2025 Nominations for the Pushcart Prize Six Torch Features, Jordan E. Franklin, Joi' C Weathers, Imani Nikelle, Yolanda Kwadey, Jennifer Maritza McCauley, and Marchaé Grair are nominated for their respective works. Read More Nov 19, 2025 Torch Literary Arts Celebrates GivingTuesday with a Board Match, Supporter Toolkit, Giveaway, and More. Torch is joining millions around the world participating in the global generosity movement on December 2, 2025. Read More Nov 5, 2025 Torch Literary Arts Returns as a Partnering Organization for the 2025 Texas Book Festival Over two days, Torch will host poets Tiana Clark and Donika Kelly in Austin for a series of inspiring readings and conversations. Read More Oct 22, 2025 Torch Literary Arts Announces Transitions to 2025 Board of Directors This board transition includes the retirement of former board secretary, Stephanie Lang, and the election of new board member, Rachel Winston Read More Oct 15, 2025 Torch Announces the 2025 Nominations for the O. Henry Prize Two Torch Features, Jennifer Coley and Jessica Araújo, are nominated for their respective short fiction stories. Read More Oct 9, 2025 Celebrating the Second Annual Donor-Advised Funds Day Torch Literary Arts encourages families and individuals with donor-advised funds to consider supporting Black women writers and the programs we offer. Read More Sep 16, 2025 Torch Announces the Nominations for the Best of the Net Eleven Torch Features were nominated for their works in creative nonfiction, fiction, poetry, and visual art in Torch Magazine. Read More Sep 2, 2025 Torch Literary Arts Announces the Torch Center Coming Fall 2025 The local Austin nonprofit organization dedicated to building community for Black women writers will now have a physical location at the LINC of Austin. Read More Aug 28, 2025 Torch Literary Arts Releases Fall 2025 Season Torch’s Fall 2025 Season includes dynamic readings, a screenwriting conversation, book festivals, workshops, and more! Read More Aug 20, 2025 Torch Announces 2026 Dates for 20th Anniversary Celebration “A Gathering of Flames” will take place in Austin, Texas, from September 25 to 27, 2026, celebrating Black women writers and 20 years of Torch’s growing community. Read More Aug 1, 2025 Celebrating Torch and Black Philanthropy Month All August Long Torch is celebrating 19 years of community and impact with CIM goals, new updates, and more! Read More Jun 5, 2025 Celebrating the Intersectionalities of Black Women Writers June is a month full of pride for queer, Caribbean, and song-filled Black women writers and the readers who love them. Read More May 28, 2025 Torch Announces New Community Impact Member Donation Initiative The Community Impact Membership (CIM) program provides Torch’s monthly donors of at least $10 and annual donors of at least $100 with exclusive items and updates. Read More Apr 24, 2025 Torch Announces the 2025 Retreat Fellows Torch returns for a third consecutive year to host eight fellows at their annual retreat for Black women writers at the Colton House in Austin, Texas, from July 20-27, 2025. Read More Apr 1, 2025 Celebrating Black Women's Contributions to Poetry All Month Long Continuing on months of celebrating Black History Month and Women’s History Month, we’re keeping the acknowledgments alive with National Poetry Month Read More Mar 27, 2025 Torch Literary Arts Awarded AWP Writing Organization Award This is the first-ever Writing Organization Award by the Association of Writers & Writing Programs, which is awarded to literary organizations based on the legacy of writing organization advocate Kurt Brown. Read More Mar 17, 2025 Torch Literary Arts Recognized at the Ireland House During SXSW with Prime Minister of Ireland Micheál Martin Torch’s “Writers Across the Diaspora” program in partnership with the Irish Consulate, Culture Ireland, and Texas State University was highlighted. Read More Mar 11, 2025 Celebrating Women’s History Month and International Women’s Day This year’s themes of moving forward together and accelerating change reinforce Torch’s mission to ALWAYS support Black women writers and the stories they share. Read More Mar 7, 2025 Torch Raises over $6,000 during Amplify Austin Campaign Joining over 700 nonprofits for one of the largest giving days in Central Texas, Torch raised over $6,000 to amplify Black women writers worldwide. Read More 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

< Back Thanking Our Funders for their Support for Black Women Writers Jun 28, 2026 In our 20th Anniversary year, seven major funders are stepping up to support Torch’s mission to amplify Black women writers. With major funding deficits affecting nonprofits, especially Black-led and Black-serving nonprofits like Torch, we want to thank our funders for their unwavering support for our mission. While funding for Torch has been affected, we have gained new partners and sustained previous funders to help fuel our flame. We want to thank the Poetry Foundation , City of Austin , The Burdine Johnson Foundation , Art Power , Austin Community Foundation , Literary Arts Fund , and Texas Commission on the Arts for their continued support of Black women writers and a diverse and inclusive literary landscape. These major funders have helped us prepare to open our first physical location in Austin. The Torch Center, opening this summer, will be a literary anchor in the Austin community, and a permanent resource and destination for Black women writers around the world. Unrestricted donations from these funders ensure that Torch leadership is trusted with our mission and decision-making for the long-term success of our nonprofit. Despite our loss of over $45,000 in funding, we are unwavering in our commitment to serving our community. We are especially grateful to our Community Impact Members (CIMs): a consistent group of recurring donors who give $100 annually or more to sustain Torch’s work and impact. As we enter 2026, we look forward to continued relationships with our major funding partners and individual donors, and can’t wait to celebrate the impact from that support at our 20th Anniversary Gathering of Flames Conference in September. Looking ahead, we anticipate more fruitful opportunities to continue growing and amplifying Black women storytellers around the world. If you are interested in becoming a CIM and learning more about the benefits, including your name at the Torch Center, visit torchliteraryarts.org/donate . ### 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. Previous Next

Torch Literary Arts publishes creative writing by Black women online. We curate public events including our Wildfire Reading Series and offer workshops and retreats. Introducing our law firm Amplifying Black Women Writers Torch Literary Arts is a 501(c)3 nonprofit organization established to publish and promote creative writing by Black women. We publish contemporary writing by emerging and experienced writers alike. Torch Magazine 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, retreats, and special events. Torch Magazine Read Online July 2026 Feature: Desiree Cooper Desiree Cooper is a Pulitzer Prize-nominated columnist, award-winning author, and a member of the Wintergreen Women Writers Collective. Desiree Cooper is a 2015 Kresge Artist Fellow, former attorney, and Pulitzer Prize-nominated journalist, and editor of the groundbreaking 2026 anthology, Black Summers: Growing up in the Urban Outdoors. Her debut collection of flash fiction, Know the Mother, won numerous awards, including the 2017 Next Generation Indie Book Award. Cooper’s fi Friday Feature: Lolita Stewart-White Lolita Stewart-White is a poet, playwright, and filmmaker from Liberty City, Florida. She is a Pushcart nominee and winner of the Paris American Series Prize. Her collection, black frag/ments, was selected by poet Ashley M. Jones as the winner of Hub City Press’s BIPOC Poetry Reader Series Prize. Stewart-White’s work has been featured in Ploughshares, Prairie Schooner, Beloit Poetry Journal, Callaloo, and the African American Review. Her poem “Healing” was featured in the awa 2025 Torch Visual Artist: Nitashia Johnson Nitashia Johnson is a multimedia visual artist and educator from Dallas, Texas whose work has been exhibited across Texas and internationally. To care about stories is to care about the world, and understanding our own gives us purpose. For as long as she can remember, storytelling through art has been Nitashia Johnson’s way of understanding the world around her and her place within it. As a multidisciplinary artist and educator from Dallas, Texas, her journey since life st EVENTS Multiple Dates Torch Writing Cirlce Mon, Jul 06 Zoom More info Learn more Welcome Table Talk - Parables and Provisions: Feeding the Soil and the Soul Sat, Jul 11 Webinar More info Learn more A Gathering of Flames: Celebrating 20 Years of Torch Literary Arts Fri, Sep 25 Austin Central Library, Austin Public Li More info Learn more Read News Learn More