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redrosethorns journal
Conscious raising, frequently utilised by feminists, involves individuals sharing their experiences to enhance awareness of social, personal, and political matters. This method has proven highly effective in fostering unity, building communities, and shedding light on broader issues affecting diverse demographics worldwide. It's a means of expressing our identities and experiences, ultimately empowering us.
Inspired by this approach, redrosethorns launched an online journal publication aimed at facilitating conversations about mental health, gender, sexuality, self-care, and empowerment.
ISSN: 2978-5316 (online)
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Midnight Stars
The curtain has been there
for almost as long as I can remember.
It's as dark as a shadow
and as heavy as the midnight stars.
A.S. Winters
Feb 202 min read
Caro White
At the bottom of the cream tub, Mama scraped the edges for the last remnant of slime, her peeling nails working like a spoon. On the sticker, a rusty, yellow-skinned woman smiled upward, wide piano-key teeth beaming at some unseen heaven. Her eyes frightened me, soulless in their happiness, yet they entranced me, made me want to borrow them. Behind her, the featureless void stretched on—a cage of white that she loved.
Natalie Gachoka
Feb 208 min read
a girl messages me on bumble at 9:53 pm
she says, heyyy girlie!! with a heart-eyed emoji, and there’s already sleep
in my eyes. how do i tell her i wear swim shorts at the beach
and flannels in the winter; learned shaina twain’s man! i feel like a woman!
on acousti guitar; doodle with blue papermate pens; ride a skateboard
with fiery thrasher stickers; down slices of spicy meat lovers
Britney Trachtenberg
Feb 201 min read
The Garden Left to Rot
I was twenty-nine years old before I understood the idea behind a vegetable garden in their front yard fully blossoming and neglected, left to rot. Back when I first noticed that garden over on Helma Street in Appalachian North Carolina, I was a couple of weeks pregnant and was walking to one of my first prenatal appointments.
Shane Greene
Feb 208 min read
Armbands Diptych
Mum’s technique was to inflate them both first.
She would then pull them up my puny arms.
Friction burnt my skin as she pulled harder.
Dad would put them on uninflated and
blow them up in place. I could sense the air
pressing on the hump of the tiny bicep.
Stephen Lott
Feb 202 min read
The Tragedy of Sisyphus
The tragedy of Sisyphus is not in the
Heaving of the rock up the endless mountain,
Nor is it in the falling, watching it
Tumble and bounce down rugged terrain.
It is the knowing that it must happen again
And again and again,
For nothing.
Jill Euclide
Feb 201 min read
Letting Go
I imagine baby birds do not welcome flying lessons:
Frantically clinging to the nest’s edge,
Heart racing in anticipation,
The shadow of Mama Bird
Threatening
Paralysis requires her to pry
Talon after talon
From small twigs and pieces of nest detritus,
The task, nearly impossible.
Jill Euclide
Feb 202 min read
The Four Seasons
Will it be winter when heaven calls
As the chill sets in and the howling wind
Roars across the sea to rattle my bones
I’ll button my coat and fasten my cap
Wrap myself in a blanket of snow
Warm to the touch is the winter’s glow
Jeff Sommer
Feb 201 min read
Rite of Passage
Sadie knew she was in over her head. She had accepted the boy's invitation to 'the farmhouse,’ where all the great parties were held by upperclassmen at her school. She accepted because Arno was one of the popular boys: he was tall and gorgeous and so smooth. Arno had been her first lover just a week ago. They had gone to a movie, and later, in the backseat of his car, they had consummated their relationship.
Bill Tope
Feb 204 min read
I Thought I Heard
"I remember a whisper I heard when I was seven; a uniformed policeman was addressing my aunt, with whom I lived. 'Your brother, Mrs. Allen,' he said, 'lost his life in an automobile accident last night.'
"Aunt Livy's only brother was my dad, Tom Lewis, Jr. I remember thinking to myself that I was named after him, which made me Tom Lewis, III. I heard a sudden sharp intake of breath and then screaming.
Bill Tope
Feb 2011 min read
Fool Me Once
That hurts! No, seriously, that hurts!!”
Way more than I thought it would.
It feels like pressure and pain, localized in a vulnerable spot inside.
I look away, feeling tears stream down my face.
It hurts so much. I’m not prepared for how intense it is.
Sarah Carter
Feb 203 min read
Armored Shadow
My shadow wears hardened armor,
Calloused by endless struggles,
Concealing her identity from all,
Vigilant against the next threat.
But once the armor falls away,
A little girl stands in its place,
Her shoes too big,
Forced to grow up too soon.
Lulu
Feb 201 min read
On the Eve of My 27th Birthday
I try to keep myself busy
in weaving words with words,
making the pattern of a poem (my profession)
for unfamiliar people to peruse.
Anam Tariq
Feb 201 min read
A Load Too Heavy
These days, the world
is a load too heavy
for one person to hold
with mortgages and taxes,
work responsibilities
and car maintenance. Everything
these days seems heavier
than we ever could have
imagined
Jenny Morelli
Feb 202 min read
A Red Hood
Dear Little Red,
I understand now
why you wore a hood
tugged low around your head.
It was to buffer
your fears.
I understand now
why it was red. It flared
Jenny Morelli
Feb 202 min read
alone, I am a choir
whenever I can I retreat into myself my ovular expanse boundless me
the contents of my name are held here on the inside
this is where I untangle my thoughts and crochet them into sweaters shape them
into poems and give them titles translate them into other languages to alter the
Ally Aardsma
Feb 201 min read
August Lethargic
I should pick up a pen
but my will is even weaker
than my forearm flexors.
Ally Aardsma
Feb 201 min read
Afterwards
Afterwards, she lay on his chest, her hand on his limpness.
“Have you been with others?” she asked, her passions now calmed. She needed to hear that she had singularly charmed him, even though his seed was not the first she had taken into herself.
Chris Lihou
Jan 231 min read
Lament
John was discontent. Today was a grey, dismal winter’s day. For John, every day felt like this, no matter the season or the weather. Spring sap had not risen in him for over a decade. He knew intellectually that he was still alive, but everything now had a blandness. John’s prior delight in food had degraded. Mealtimes were now simply the taking on of fuel. Walking the dog had become a chore to be endured.
Chris Lihou
Jan 233 min read
Three
Three. How I hate that number. Two things happen, then I’m anxiously waiting, expecting the third thing to go wrong.
I know where my fear comes from. My baby sister, my mum’s third child, was born three weeks early and died three weeks later. I was three at the time. See? The number keeps popping up!
Chris Lihou
Jan 232 min read
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