Sister Series 2020

Last year, I felt pulled to start a poetry series in alignment with International Women’s Day, titled Sister Series. In this series, I wrote poems with some specific women in mind, depicting past solely their skin, rather, penning about the beauty within their soul.

I felt a similar pull this year. When I went to go write these poems, I became overwhelmed with gratitude, for I’ve had the opportunity to become acquainted and know so many women over the past year. I decided to write every name I knew in a jar and picked out a few. Over the next month, I will be sharing these works with you.

While these poems were penned with specific women in mind—you will see your mother, your sister, your friend, maybe even yourself—in these poems. I want to encourage you to share these words with them, or even write a few of your own.

This first poem comes from a time I visited Ohio before I moved here for the second time; I was in the Columbus Museum of Art and started weeping for the people here. That’s the moment I knew that Ricky and I would move back here, and naturally, was the perfect poem to start off this series.

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Kindred

by Regan Smith

• • •

I walk through art galleries and weep, 
the paper and paint is beautiful, 
but these humans inhabiting this space
are what take my breath away. 

I see you be moved by an art piece, 
emotions emerging to the surface, 
until they’re shown on your skin. 

My heart is tied to yours, and 
with every atom, I can feel 
when you ache–when you have joy,
my heart soars alongside yours. 

And although today we may be strangers, 
our eyes link for a second,
and that scintillating moment
reminds us that we are sisters.

Resisting the Tides

I’m so thrilled to welcome Juanita as a guest author on Introspective Collective. Resisting the Tides is a truly beautiful poem full of strength, courage, and encourages a state of mindfulness amidst turbulence.

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Resisting the Tides

by Juanita Rey

• • •

I’m sitting on a rock
and the tide is rolling in around me.
I’m separating from the land.
There’s nothing underfoot but water.

The waves slap on either side
like the fists of a wife-beater
but I determined to remain calm,
to not move from my tiny island.

I know it’s all the moon and sun’s doing.
All those gravitational forces
acting on a spinning globe.
But, when you’re actually sitting here,
with ocean swirling around you,
it feels much more personal than that.

The pounding doesn’t stop me thinking.
The spray can’t interfere with my reminiscing.
This is my sanctuary.
I think of home and family,
not drowning.

Eventually, the tide pulls out.
It’s met its match.
Other rocks appear now.
Maybe other women will join me.

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Juanita Rey is a Dominican poet who has been in this country (United States) for five years. Her work has been published in Pennsylvania English, Harbinger Asylum, Petrichor Machine and Porter Gulch Review.

Accompanying photograph is by Farrah Emami.

Sister Series

I felt pulled to start a poetry series the past several weeks; this announcement coincides with International Women’s Day, a delightful happenstance. We’re calling it the Sister Series, a sequence of poems created with several particular women in mind. These are poems that swiftly sweep past the surface of their skin and swing deep into the beauty that dwells within their souls.

The introductory poem to this series is one I initially read aloud around a year ago. I’m proud to introduce the Sister Series with this piece, one which encapsulates my true birth-sisters, wrapped together within a single work.

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Jacquelyn Raquel Elizabeth

by Regan Smith
(poem also known as Sisters)

Baby blue stitches, 
little crossed threads creating denim patterns; 
though fading in the elbows. 

She paints oranges, develops photos of her sisters, 
and captures footage of the Cinquefoil flowers. 

She wraps her arms around her brothers, 
and laughs loudly; 
honeydew hope is held in her eyes.

On a basking blanket between two Cottonwood trees,   
with a short story collection between her palms, 
her face begins to freckle—
beneath her full eyebrows,
and on her soft shoulders. 

She is in the wind, and will grow weary, 
belly swells as baby grows—
resting her spine on the bed, 
as she pulls splinters from her fingers.

Gray strands emerge from her scalp, 
woven throughout her cocoa curls;  
it holds the air of the forest, 
and unravels beneath streams of warm water. 

A lively life looms, 
indigenous to encouragement. 

Her heart is held, 
familiar to a full mind—
but not foreign to today. 

I think she understates, 
how many good traits she received from her mother; 
how they both speak with words that break the bones of death, 
and shift tides with a whisper.