Writers in Communities

The Writers in Communities (WIC) program sends published, professional writers into schools, institutions, and other community settings to work alongside students of all ages and abilities. While in residence, the writers and their students create dynamic creative writing projects that challenge, celebrate, inspire and enlighten. Our innovative programs have been recognized by The New York Times and San Antonio Express-News, among others.

WIC training 2016

WIC Pow-wow 2016

 
 

StainI wouldn’t mind being my couch.

All green, lumpy, soft, warm,

And you could drown in me if you felt like it.

I have little lines all over me,

They are essential,

Like the hair on a girl or fingers on an artist.

People have tried to cover me,

To change me,

From green to blue

Or from blue to white.

But they always fail

Because I will remain green.

I’m what helps people relax

And not worry

Or stand around,

Unsure of what to do next.

A place where people can crowd together,

Not caring about personal space,

Drinks spilled,

Food dropped.

But it’s okay

Because these stains are memories

Memories of a little girl

Who tried to cover up spilled nail polish

With a cheap cotton blanket.

Tears clouded her eyes

Making them shine

Like soft diamonds made of water.

She couldn’t bear to let her mom see,

Couldn’t bear to see anger or disappointment in

her eyes.

But she couldn’t bear to let her mother find out by herself.

So she told her,

Her voice thick while she chokes on tears.

Instead,

Her mom doesn’t get angry

Or disappointed.

She looks sad.

As if she is sad that her daughter was scared of her.

She got up and embraced her daughter.

Told her that she could tell her anything,

That it’s just a couch.

And kissed her on the forehead.

Every time I look at that smeared nail polish,

Or that cheap blanket,

I can’t help but smile

 

From the WIC anthology The Moon Towards Me (2012)

Photo courtesy of Vavva_92

 
 

Heart shoeLove has such a big meaning

for only a four letter word.

Love is like hot cocoa.

You can feel the warmth of it,

when it’s just right,

consume your whole body.

Sweet warm love.

Love is cinnamon—it lingers

in your nose, but it’s nice

to know it’s there.

 

From the WIC anthology behind the clean, blue sky (2008)

Photo courtesy of Meghan Dougherty

 
 

clock 2Losing time because

time is melting away.

 

It feels like time is melting away.

 

It seem like everything

is melting. It feels like

I am torn by clocks.

 

It feels like time stops.

 

Time does not make sense.

Rocks and clocks are the same—

It feels like clocks are falling from the sky.

 

From the WIC anthology Night and Memory (2013)

Photo courtesy of ~Pawsitive~Candle_N

12345...