I had a new poem published in Issue 11 of Ink & Marrow in February and another in Issue 1 - 2026 of Full House Literary earlier this month.

Ink & Marrow is one of my favorite literary journals. It’s run by poets I met during my two rounds of Megan Falley’s Poems That Don’t Suck workshop. One thing I love about this journal is that most issues contain only 7 to 11 poems, making them intimate and digestible.

In honor of Women’s History Month, I’ve curated a little list of women-themed/relevant workshops happening in March (plus a bonus one for April). Note that you do not have to identify as woman to attend these workshops, with the exception of the March 8th writing circle (which is open to woman, woman-identifying, and non-binary folks only).

Upcoming Workshops

Women’s Liberation Writing Circle (inspired by Lucille Clifton) with Prudence Brooks

Cord Swell (W. W. Norton & Company, 2025)

Brittny Ray Crowell’s Cord Swell is an ancestral altar of poetry created by patching together memory, dialogue, and experience with tangible family ephemera, from journals and obituaries to home videos. In “Down 59,” Crowell writes:

“speak home, and watch memory splinter into clover
watch as your hands spin shadows into silk webs
translucent and thin
but broad enough to cross over”

And every poem feels like another thread in that web bridge Crowell builds to gap the space between past and present, living and dead:

As She Appears (YesYes Books, 2022)

In As She Appears, Shelley Wong explores identity—as a queer woman of color and post break-up—through imagery and language plucked from the world around her: the ocean, seasons, landscapes, specific colors, contemporary culture, artwork, fashion . . .

"On land I can still lose
my boundary, identifying

with the ocean & not the lake."

(from "The Ocean Will Take Us One Day")

"I wear pale pink to bloom—a pastel queen, soft sight."

(from "Pandemic Spring")

I don’t know if I have the eloquence or skill to give As She Appears the proper review it deserves, but it’s a stunning collection, and I read each poem two to three times, in awe of them all.

I know it’s only February, but the past month has felt like a whole damn year. Especially here in Minneapolis, where ICE is currently wreaking havoc on our state by instigating violence, kidnapping immigrants (regardless of their status), and kidnapping/murdering legal observers.

While I’ve been helping where I can, I tend to freeze during traumatic events. The one thing I CAN do when I’m feeling stuck is write. And while it doesn’t seem like a lot, creating art right now matters. It’s how we connect with others, show solidarity, and bring a glimpse of joy to others during a time where a lot of people are overwhelmed, scared, anxious, or burnt out. Art can also be a tool for processing what’s happening and emotions that come up.

Cataloguing Pain (YesYes Books, 2023)

Allison Blevins’ Cataloguing Pain reads like a worship of pain, which is a nod to the poet’s ability to morph agony into pleasure by shaping and re-shaping language—how, in a poem in which the speaker recalls that first “small burning” of desire between her thighs when she was a child thinking “just right about that girl on TV,” the only solution “was to rub the pain away.” (from “Pain as Caged Birds”)