------------ VISUAL ART -----------

Cyanotypes By Kris Wetmore

----------- POETRY ​-----------

Laney's Introduction to "Afloat"
I think so many of us feel that there are days when it's just too much and we have no time for the beauty of motherhood. We keep going fueled by pure love and determination, and somehow, the beauty seeps in anyway and that is the gift we are given. My daughter is now grown. She is a mariner, working for, and sometimes piloting, the Washington State Ferries. She has worked on the water for years in Alaska and Hawaii and now she's back in Seattle, living only a half hour from me. We are kindred spirits and I'm more grateful than words could express.

AFLOAT
By Laney Williams, 2024
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to come this far in a punctured vessel
hunched over, bailing buckets of weariness
water seeps in and surrounds my ankles
an oily sheen and the slight stench of reality

those years were eons, working hours
struggling to find safe harbor
for myself and my small passenger
never enough time to savor

eyelashes as she slept, casting shadows
on cheeks of softest innocence
my charge to protect this magnificence 
not a hardship but a glad relief

wondering was love sufficient
to keep the chill out, to keep her warm
not wanting her to ever need to bail
hoping the waves gently rocked her

now, as the morning steam rises
and wanes to reveal the shining gulf
I see I passed on the legacy to strive
unable to cushion her completely

I couldn’t keep the world out                  
but the gift I could give was dedication
that kept us afloat upon the blue billows
and she will always know she was loved

Laney's Introduction to "Jessica's Gift"
​Within the sometimes stressful world of single parenting, our children can provide surprising comfort, just by being themselves. As we watch them develop and grow, it fills us up in ways that nothing else can.

​JESSICA'S GIFT
By Laney Williams

like blossoms placed on my worried heart
the small hands comfort me                   
my spirits ease, how could they not?
her touch is feathery                                

those hands are strong for one so young  
firm yet still so small
and as she grows the hands grow skilled
from art and work and all

she gathers and she nurtures
learns much from nature’s ways
communes with crows and plants and soil
and sailing fills her days 

now that she’s grown my worries ease
such joy to see her bloom
and my dear daughter’s blossoms
still grant me their perfume

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