It’s October & autumn is in full, lovely swing! To celebrate, we want to get witchy w/ y’all so all month we’ll be hosting our new #WTchCraftChallenge prompt series. Be sure to use our hashtag—we cannot wait to see what wonderful brilliance you brew! ✨✨Check our social media every day for new prompts written with love by the WT staff.
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from REAL BODIES, Laura Chow Reeve
What a joy it is to announce the first cohort of the Winter Tangerine Fellowship!
Our 2018 fellows are Siaara Freeman, Lyrik Courtney, Golden, kiki nicole, & Yujane Chen!
These writers marvel and shimmer. Their writing is bold and luminous, and the urgency and insight of their work undeniably moved us.
Perséfone’s fingers are thin and long, like La Calle Septima, one of the main streets in Bogotá, Colombia, where her family is originally from. She used to play the cello. I saw it one night soon after we began hanging out—body buried in a black bag—tossed in a back ditch of her bedroom, a thin stream of dust coating the shell. That night, I didn't ask about it. If I had, she might have shut down and uploaded herself into the dust of satellites, unreturned texts and trails of indecipherable emojis.
I always thought that a cello looks like a swan: a long slender neck curving into rounded hips. Perséfone, a girl with the gravest of expressions, could be either the cello buried in her bedroom, resplendent but untouched, an instrument with no voice; or the swan sailing across the water, alone and determined.