They Write Ampersands (Not Periods).

In honor of Women's History Month 2020 (March) and National Poetry Writing Month (April), this is a double-themed poetry collection. Activism is a constantly continuing narrative; one generation's fight is passed on to the next. Many religions include an element of transformation- changes that seep through bone to soul. The title of this collection came to me while reading all of these wonderful submissions- all of these poems hinge on transformation and continuation,

themes highly reminiscent of women activists and religion.

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Quantum Mechanics and Astrophysicists

by Vita

Vita is a poet and science enthusiast. She particularly enjoys blending her passion for learning about space, chemistry, physics, and computer science into her writing. You can find more of her writing at vitavolopoetry.blogspot.com.

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One Step at a Time by Caraline Hansen

Caraline is an 8th-grader from New England who loves gardening, baking, and photography. She spends most of her time either writing (of course) or playing with her dog.

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My Rosary

by Rowan Saxelbye

Rowan Saxelbye lives in England. He spends his time taking long walks in the rain and trying to communicate some sort of feeling through writing.

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The following poem, Goddamaged, is by Alexis Hart, a seventeen year old aspiring poet, artist, and creative writer. She's been published in several local collections including a literary art journal for teens in her city and her community colleges literary magazine. She would one day love to publish a book of her own poetry.

I am a God-fearing woman, goddangerous.

But I fear the words associated with the

choice of my personal inclination. My holy

confession, my holy repentance. Goddrawn.

I see everything in the small things. Brought to

tears by the incomprehensible beauty of the

skyline. The spider. The ironwood.

I am a God-fearing woman, goddefiant. Taken aback

by the harm caused by professing a belief without an

understanding of the reality. Masquerading as

iconoclastic revolutionist while burying something

much more sinister. Hell Is Real signs along Interstate

65. Confess before you die. Shouting salvation on

street corners to ears that will not listen. Hearts

hardened by years of abuse perpetuated by men who

do not really understand the words they speak.

Screech. Straight from the devil, prosperity gospel.

Silver-tongued hate, flames comprised of nothing but

white lies and guilt burning into the skin of

unsuspecting victims. They just want a break.

Goddamaged.

I am a God-fearing woman, goddeprived. Looking for

Eden in everything. Uncertain what I’ve been called to,

afraid to hear a voice that tells me something other than

what I want to hear him say. Hiding from his sight in the

hopes that he won’t see me for who I am. Won’t see the the

parts I keep tucked away

underneath layers of self

protection.

I am a God-fearing woman. I

am a God-loving woman. I

am a God-hiding woman. I

am a God-ashamed woman,

and I can’t bring myself to use the same words that someone

else has used to hurt. So I bury my head in the sand and tell

them that “God will come” along someday and save us all

from our hiding and hating and I guess I’m no better than

Peter, thrice denying, self-proclaiming follower of a Christ

that I can’t see.

Every time I begin to wonder if I believe in a God simply because it is

comfortable I feel stones in my ribs, and upsetting of the goddarling way of

thinking. He is angry and maybe He’s angry at me but at least it means I am

feeling something.

Goddangerous. Goddrawn. Goddefiant. Goddamaged. They’re all

the same thing, the same wrestlings with an impossible

compromise between eyes and hands and heart and lies. And

maybe I won’t be here tomorrow.

Maybe I’ll burn in an insufferable rage until I am a martyr at my

own hands. A death of all the irreconcilable points because if I am

a sinner for loving or for dying then I will do both and ask

forgiveness

at the feet of whatever God (dangerous, drawn,

defiant) I find waiting.

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And finally, two poems by yours truly. The first, pictured right, is Prayerworks. The poem below is titled Can You Hear Claudette?

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Bravery does not know age and sometimes defies law

When the rules we set are not in keeping with justice’s call

You’ve probably heard of Rosa Parks and the day she refused to leave

The seat set out for white folk and by law out of a Black person’s reach

But Claudette Colvin held her ground nine months before Rosa Parks did, too

She was carted away to an adults’ prison, fifteen years old to Parks’ forty two

Fiery insults hurled at her and her personhood ignored

Montgomery police abused Claudette; called her n-word girl and more

I sing her name today and hope her story is told

To remind activists of the shoulders we stand on and inspire a new generation to be bold.

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If you'd like to contribute art, photographs, poetic prose, poetry, or personal narratives to the upcoming May and June poetry posts, a submission portal will be available soon! Until then, you can email questions to seekingjoyandjustice@gmail.com or comment them down below.

Additionally, if you'd like to read more poetry in this time of isolation and quarantine, you can check out my latest project- a work of art and coding I co-created with artist and steminist Caroline here.

Thank you for reading!