When I Wanted to Kiss Your Neck by the River

“This is who I am.” The words rise, though I am alone. I’m not perfect or beautiful or young: “This is me, accept me or reject me.” (Please, love me.) Some minutes later, I park, stumble gracelessly out of the car, hopelessly in love, nervously shrugging the words I had minutes before spoken aloud, and then I fall into your arms and find peace, home. (Please, oh god, please love me.) I think I play it cool, but inside oh how I want to kiss your neck, standing there by the river. Time slows. The wind tosses my hair everywhere. My skirt teases up, whips my knees. The air is fresh and warm. The grass, the leaves impossibly green. The water drifts lazily while the geese waddle by, ignoring us, our quiet conversation. You point out several landmarks and their significance. I remember you telling me about them, sending me photos. Now I see them in real life, with you. I just want to stay near you, from this moment on. My body, now imprinted by the memory of your arms around me, wonders: how to get closer? I can smell you, where my face had pressed to your chest. I wonder if you are half as affected by me as I you. I scoot everso slightly closer to you. Wanting to invade your space. Wanting you back in mine. Wanting your arms around me again. Our bodies pressed together. Our energies intermingling. Wanting to kiss you. For all my senses to be filled by you. Wanting all this and more and somehow at the same time filled with peace. Either you will accept me, or you won’t. Either you will love me or you will walk away. From me, with my flaws and fading youth and sad eyes. Me, with a heart full of love and grace. Me, loving only you. 

As I drive away some days later, the skies having opened that morning, overdue rain now drumming the windshield, watering the parched fields, “How am I going to carry on without you now? Now that I’ve had you?  Without a heart in my chest?” I wonder who will cry more: me, or the clouds. (I’m betting it’s me.) Tears run down my face. Drip-drip-dripping from my chin. “I love you,” I say inside an empty car. “Please don’t forget me,” I whisper to the passing landscape, hoping somehow my words will find you, in spite of the growing distance between us. But this I now know: you do love me. And I you.


tara caribou | ©️2025 photo by me

The First Fields at Sunrise

The morning sky, lightening from black to midnight blue, blue to lavender, and then pink on the impossibly far-off horizon. My first glimpses of a new future. I pass through a wall of peace as I cross the county line. This is what home feels like. My heart, open to budding love and altogether something new, sings in my chest. You almost make me believe in love at first sight. But it was before that, wasn’t it? When I first felt the inner you: the stirrings of real peace and enduring devotion. You say you’re nothing but I say you are everything I could ever desire. 

The pink on the horizon lifts to a subtler shade, becoming more orange which I know will shift to the bright white of morning sun. It is as if it is morning in my soul as well. Is this a dream? Have I really found a home after all these years of searching and then giving up? Could I truly find a place to rest, and then upon this newfound tranquility, to grow? I believe I have. 


tara caribou | ©️2025 photo by me

Sacred Grove

In the sacred grove lay secrets from the past for the future
Touching the grey furrowed bark of a grandfather oak, I listen
Be in the now, it’s all you have, this moment here, you and I

I weep for all the could-be’s and should-have-been’s
Wasted moments
I weep for the spread of dull apathy

A bridge rests quietly amongst the aged sentinels
It spans not water but history itself
A remembrance of by-gone days
Those of community, well-being, personal pride, hard work, and temperance
Crossing over allows me that glimpse, new possibilities cover my eyes

Oh grandfather!
What have you been witness to!
Teach me, I am listening!

Let us share a meal, soak in the warmth of the sun, wind caressing our skin
Let us talk and laugh and listen and lean in closer, shoulders bumping
Together we stretch time, negating its power
Glancing over, I fall deeper in love

Branches sway, leaves twist and rest, every direction I look is peace and joy
Uncertainty melts little by little
You have brought new life to my heart
Teach me more, I will listen!

Perhaps there are no secrets for the future
Perhaps all we truly have, is here


tara caribou | ©️2025 photos by me

Reflections from Bird Sanctuary Island

Supreme peace and love fill my heart as I listen to dozens of birds warble and chirp and squawk and honk 

A special place, an island across a marsh, aged trees stand tall, some leaning with old age, aching for the changes they’ve seen 

Light and shadow dapple the forest floor, green leaves allowing drops of sunshine through, here, there

A man whistles to his hound, his neck burdened by a huge camera, stares up at the branches, the ground, the dog, up again

I wonder what he’s come here for, perhaps he too seeks the forgiveness and acceptance found on the isle

The trail weaves with the land, unobtrusive, drawing you further in, a squirrel bounds along ahead, inviting me to follow

And I do

Rising above the lake, a platform waits, a narrow view of a wide world, framed by twisted branches and flitting feathered travelers, I spot yellow wings, some black with red spots, unassuming greys and browns

Below, in the young cattails, a splash and a plunk, a frog? a turtle? perhaps a muskrat, I scan for herons but see none, though the geese are plenty, where do they all go in such a hurry, here to there?

It’s quiet, except for the birds, occasionally our conversation, and I’m grateful and filled with peace, yet I feel a longing grow within, a space yawning open, infilling with possibility 

A short walk through a dropped walnut trail leads to a dock, on which I sit and share a sandwich, some for me, some for the birds and fish, no takers

Bubbles rise and I know the sign of a turtle resting on the lakeshore floor, how long has he sat there sleeping? dreaming? Is this a dream, I wonder, I hear the words: I’m real, this is happening

The sun warms my back, my shoulders, my hair, I can’t imagine a more perfect moment, my devotion and tenderness growing, almost to bursting in my chest, healing me from the inside out, I wonder about acceptance and the balm of love

I consider the geese, one chasing off a rival before returning to comfort his mate, the bond renewed, I understand that bond, and sharing this space is a bond of its own

In my mind I form oaths and hope one day you’ll understand and hold them precious

Our quiet conversation drifts in and out, sometimes the breeze says it all, others it’s the birds or you or I, that you’ve shared this space with me speaks volumes and I am grateful, I can’t imagine being here with anyone else

I sigh, but it’s a good sigh, one of contentment and hope and healing


tara caribou | ©️2025 | photo by me

I just got back from a trip to Iowa and my heart is full of gratitude, love, and new experiences.

Let Go

If you let me, I’ll spread wide
Let you bury yourself deep inside
And my voice croons
Let yourself go, free yourself now
Together, we’ll go higher than
Either of us thought was possible
Because, babe, it’s me and you
And together we’re stronger than
Either of us thought was possible
So dip down in, taste my fire
Swallow me whole and we’ll begin again
(Insatiable) flames on flames (on flames)
And if you let me, I’ll hold you close
Let your essence absorb
With my song crying,
Just let yourself go, you can free yourself now
Together, we’ll go higher than
Either of us thought was possible
If you let us, we’ll fly higher than
Either of us thought was possible
If only you’d let yourself go


©️ tara caribou | 2025

New Book – “When the Glass Breaks” poetry by Kelley Morris

Raw Earth Ink is proud to present Kelley Morris’ re-released collection of poetry, When the Glass Breaks.

From the back: Kelley Morris writes poetry in a way some people breathe. She composes in a natural language, one where the reader come to inhabit her gentle world of living. This is the kind of poetry capable of raising you up, bestowing hopefulness, and adding beauty to a plain day. Employing artful, yet unpretentious language which is expansive but still familiar, we find a place where we discover a piece of ourselves in her acute observations, creating a shared melody of existence.

Kelley’s poetry contains the raw timber of what it means to build up and truly BE in this world. Tenderly evoking emotions in a real, raw-faced way, this collection lingers long after reading, as we grow, change, and transform.

In paperback at: Lulu, Barnes & Noble, or Amazon.

As eBook at: Kindle.

Leave a review on Goodreads.


©️2025 | Kelley Morris

Kelley Morris can be found on Instagram @kmariemorris and her website Piano Girl.

Author Spotlight: Joseph William Vass

Joseph William Vass won 2nd prize in Poetry in the Northwind Writing Award 2024 for his poem We Entered Stone’s Dominion. It is an honor to feature his Q&A here on Raw Earth Ink as part of our promotion of truly exceptional authors.


Q & A

Candice: Joseph, first thank you so much for your beautiful submissions. What stood out to the judges was the absolute raw beauty of your writing. You are a classic poet, not a modern poet, something we really appreciated, because instead of a short ‘trendy’ poem, we received an entire story. Has this always been your preferred style of writing?

Joseph: I feel honored to be considered a “classic” poet, as the language in particular of old time is very rich and appealing to me, so replete with subtleties and expansive vocabulary, stretching the fullness and scope of the literary world. It seems more layered in meaning, its words planted in fertile places that my mind likes to occupy.

CD: Who are your influences poetically? If they are not poetic, such as the natural world, or a painter, muse, or other, please explain.

Joseph: I think I have always been a natural story teller, without intending it to be so reflected in my writing style. Even in my work as a psychotherapist, I convey psychological principles and relational lessons to my clients in the form of stories. It seems a less threatening and more engaging way of bypassing our defenses and appealing to our subconscious process, where the true seed of all learning lies.

CD: Is it abundantly clear you are able to mesh the appreciation and love of the natural world in all your poems, alongside a powerful ‘story’ – is there a story behind this?

Joseph: The early writing of James Dickey still astonishes me every time I read it, but always attaches to the saddest words in the world: What might have been. I met him shortly after “Deliverance”, at the height of his popularity. And discovered a fallen hero, his enormous talent broken like so many others, by the bottle. But his early work, like “Falling” as an example, reminds me of Beethoven: Monumental!

CD: Being familiar with older poets like Tennyson and others who always had a really powerful story in their poems, I found much of that same detailed, engaging storyline in your submissions, especially the winner, and I wondered, do you intentionally do this or is it just how your writing comes out? In other words, what is your writing process?

Joseph: Nature has always been a refuge for me. I came to this country when I was 4 years old, and spent considerable time alone, as my parents worked very long, hard hours to support us. I occupied myself with regular forays into the nearby forest and fields. And my parents both grew up on farms in eastern Europe, so we would often go foraging for mushrooms and berries and other wild food stocks to enrich the pierogies and babkas, and other fabulous meals my mother would prepare. Even now at my advanced age, I still love to climb mountains and explore wild places at every available opportunity. It is my natural element, and I feel connected to the eternal, when I am in the wilderness. How could this not be reflected in my writing?

CD: Aside from other writers, what else gets your blood pumping when you feel engaged to write on subjects? What are those subjects and why do they appeal to you?

Joseph: Great things originate from humble beginnings. Sometimes a word triggers a feeling. The feeling gives birth to a phrase. The phrase takes the scenic route home. And there you have it: a poem. But I am only a conduit. I never plan the route. I’m only along for the ride.

Like good home cooked meals, the common base ingredient for every recipe, as with every successful poem, is love. You have to love whatever it is you’re writing about. And if you do, it will show. And if you also have some talent on top of that, you will do special things.

CD: Tell us a little about what brought you to becoming a writer, what your story is there, and how it evolved from the time you began writing, until now?

Joseph: From the time I first started writing poetry at 15 years of age, I have felt strongly that the greatest human endeavor is to create. I suspect that because I spent such considerable time alone, there was ample opportunity to let my imagination and curiosity roam. And aren’t these exactly the essential ingredients for creative endeavors to flourish? But another factor that was more unique to my situation, was the fact that I was an immigrant. I had to learn a different language, and customs and thought-culture. This had to have expanded and freed up my brain’s way of processing and thinking about concepts and words and ideas. People who encounter me through any significant conversation, all remark that I use language differently, though they can never articulate how. And isn’t that another factor in good writing: learning to use words differently, so you see language and the world in a new way?

CD: Did you think your writing would be received with as much love as it has been, when you submitted? Or did you fear that modern competitions would not appreciate writing that is more classical in style? If you disagree that it’s classical, that’s okay too!

Joseph: Candice, I was stunned when I received the notice of having won second place in your contest. I am well thought of by many people in the several writing groups that I belong to. But even the most well-established writers in my groups say the same thing to me: “Your writing, Joe, is brilliant and beautiful. But it is so out of date! You’ll never get published.” They unfortunately, have been right.

CD: Can you talk to us about writing this poem?

Joseph: This particular poem, “We Entered Stone’s Dominion”, has had several incarnations. It first got started many years ago, when I was hiking through some back country wilderness in Arizona with a friend. We found a cave that had once been inhabited by native Americans hundreds of years earlier. I was struck by the figures of animals leaping and cavorting on the walls of the cave, how the shadows cast from my flashlight seemed to shiver around me, as though trying to animate through time. I was profoundly moved, and thought of the maker who had left a piece of his soul behind through his marvelous creations. And I put my hand to the wall, and touched them. And imagined myself becoming him, the creator. And what his life was like, what he was like, in that moment of his creation. And I realized then, that the most immortal and essential part of ourselves that is left behind after we die, is what we have created, and the love we have given to it. And that can be a work of art, or a poem; or a child or a relationship; and yes, even a pierogi.

CD: Did you find your writing changed over time and if so, how do you see that happening and what were the influencing factors to cause that shift/change?

Joseph: My writing has absolutely changed with time. Not the underlying fascination with magical realism, or story telling; these things have remained a constant. But certainly my writing has matured as I have matured. We’ve polished off the rough edges. We’ve learned a thing or two about life, and that shows in the telling. We love more, and offer it freely, without pretense or gain, other than through the giving. My writing does this more now, as do I.

CD: The imagery is gorgeous in your poetry, where do you get the influence for your images and metaphors?

Joseph: I have always been very visually oriented, and was a professional nature photographer for a time long ago. I suspect my parents and my unique early history first conspired to open my eyes to beauty. And then years ago at a very painful juncture in my life, I decided that I wanted to focus on 2 things in my future: To strive to add goodness to life wherever I go, whatever I do; and also to surround myself with beauty, to walk in beauty every day. In Dante’s Inferno, there is a line that resonates with me: “Damned in the midst of Paradise, I lack the low enjoying power.” I try never to be guilty of that. It drives the images and metaphors that crop up of their own accord in my writing.

CD: What power does poetry play in the translation of life?

Joseph: Poetry can be terrifically powerful, in such a wonderful concept as “the translation of life”. Don’t we all carry at least little snippets of poetry from our early memories, that still linger and delight? “The rain and an umbrella go chatting together.” “Whose woods these are, I think I know…”

They capture a moment, a feeling, that will always attach to that experience wherever and whenever we encounter it joyfully again. It opens our eyes, so we see the Paradise that is ever present around us. That is poetry.

CD: When you write, do you find a catharsis in writing out an experience, even such a painful one? And if so, do you have to speak to that experience directly or can you find catharsis even without directly describing the issue-at-hand by the writing process itself?

Joseph: Poetry has never been cathartic for me personally. For some reason, it is more an uplifting, a celebration of sorts. I find my prose stories, however, to be quite cathartic. And I’m afraid I have no explanation for this distinction, only that it is true to my experience.

CD: In your opinion, how do you think people can benefit from reading poems in general, and in particular in today’s society that convinces itself it’s too busy to read?

Joseph: I’m afraid my current perception of the world at large is jaded and quite sad. I fear we have as a whole cast our lot with schlock sensationalism, and lost our taste for substance. How can people benefit from reading poetry? It is one of many means to save our souls. The passion of our times is a weak tea. But who wants to reach out our hand for that cream and sugar, when it involves effort? Maybe indulging the current craving for a quick fix, would kick start something more enduring. Short but meaningful poems like those of Emily Dickinson, or six-word poems might be a good place to start.

CD: In your lifetime thus far, have you observed a shift in how people read in terms of whether they do or not, and how this influences their ability to be, say, empathetic or aware of things that poetry was often a good medium for?

Joseph: As a psychotherapist of 50 years, I have seen very troubling trends in our children’s mental health. The incidence of depression and suicide has tripled in the last decade, as a direct result of the advent of cellphones, and the growing preference for texting and learning through online visual sites rather than reading or engaging in human contact. This trend is socially isolating, and prevents the development of intimacy, empathy, and sympathy for others. We have also known for decades that children’s I.Q. is directly correlated to how much time they spend watching T.V., playing video games, or engaging with other electronic monitors.

The more time they watch, the lower their I.Q. scores. Consequently, the more time a child spends in reading, the higher their I.Q. scores will be. We are raising a generation of depressed and isolated human beings who are blind to the true beauty of the world and each other. Poetry obviously is not a panacea, but it is one of the many means to a much better end.

CD: Your style is incredibly distinct; it really stands out and demands to be read. You also write quite long form poetry (which I personally love) – have you found it challenging given the modern appetite for shorter, more pithy writings, to stay relevant, or is that unimportant to you?

Joseph: I know that to stay relevant as a writer, we have to be flexible in adjusting our style to current culture and taste trends. I have never been trendy, and I do not aspire to be a popular writer. I fully understand my limitations as a writer in terms of my success quotient. I don’t have it, and never will. Truly, that is all right with me.

CD: As a reader of poetry, what do you like and dislike about the poetry you read, and why?

Joseph: I like poetry that moves me in some way, or captures language or imagery in a way that I never thought of before, or creates a place that I want to inhabit for a long time, and want to return to repeatedly. I dislike poetry that sacrifices substance for structure, and thus feels like the writer is struggling to squeeze a poem into a box, and taking its life away. A poem needs room to breathe its own air.

CD: Do you find ‘modern’ online poetry varies from the more traditional published (print) poetry in terms of length and subject and how do you feel about this?

Joseph: I’m sorry to say that I do not read online poetry, and that is unfair of me. I know I am throwing the baby out with the bath, but I’ve already made clear how corrosive I see the online world as being. I love the smell of an old book, the texture and feel of paper. Have we forgotten it was once alive?

CD: As a writer, was there a time when you were unable to write and how did that affect you?

Joseph: I have always been able to write. There have been times when I have chosen not to. But writing is a bit like stars in the daylight sky. Unseen perhaps. But still there.

CD: I detected a lot of passion in your writing, you really draw the reader in, and pull them to the very edge of their seat. Are you conscious that your writing has this effect on people? What does it make you think?

Joseph: My writing has me on the edge of my own seat. I am always fascinated by what comes out of my head, and wonder what I could have possibly done, to have such a generous gift offered to me. My unconscious mind, that holds in some measure everything that I have ever learned and experienced and thought of. All conniving in a mercurial mix of allusion and suggestion and metaphor to create who knows what miraculous concoction of words and feelings, using just 26 letters to do it all. Poetry: a minimum of words, a maximum of experience.

CD: Specifically considering your gorgeous poem: “We Entered Stone’s Dominion”. Was this a poem that flowed out of you or more one you planned out consciously? In other words, what was the inspiration there?

Joseph: In the poem, “We Entered Stone’s Dominion”, I was shocked at the end point of my journey. I willfully planned nothing. It kept pulling me along, and pulling me along. But every part felt like a natural progression from whatever came before it. And each step taken, like a marvelous bud unfolding for the first time.

CD: As an award-winning poet and writer, do you feel connected to that identity or are you someone who writes without really believing you are a writer per say? In other words, do you have Imposter Syndrome as a writer, or are you quite comfortable with the idea of being a writer? And if so, what does “being a writer” mean to you?

Joseph: I have suffered from the Imposter Syndrome in more ways than just as a writer, and don’t know that I can separate the two. My unique history and family have indulged many eccentricities that have always been evident in my person. The good part of that is that I am incapable of being bored. My lively, quirky brain will make sure of that. For some reason, it was somewhere around page 300 of my recently completed memoir, that I suddenly sat up straight in my chair and had the oddest thought. I said out loud to myself, “Oh, Joseph! You are writing a book. You must be a writer!” That wonderful aha moment then attached itself to my poetry as well, figuring: “Ah, why the hell not.”

Being a writer feels like being burned by a fine silk. It is breathing a rarified air. It is what I want to be and who I want to be. It is all.

CD: Please share any other aspects to your poem“We Entered Stone’s Dominion”, and what brought you to submit it to Northwind, that you believe readers would benefit from knowing about?

Joseph: I would hope readers consider my poem “We Entered Stone’s Dominion”, as an invitation to explore. That wonderful something waiting for us at every turn of the trail. The timeless reach of the infinite. To create something out of nothing, out of love.

CD: I’d love to know personally how you came to title this poem, as it’s an incredibly original title and one that demands reading.

Joseph: Although I am not at all a religious man, I am profoundly spiritual. And have come to my own realization that the world is holy. Every living thing is holy. Even the dead, even the rocks are holy. The title of this poem reflects that reverence, and how art and creativity enjoin us to the spirit of nature, the earth, the holiness of stone.


Author bio: Joseph William Vass was born in Manchester, England in 1951. He emigrated to the United States at an early age, together with his parents and one battered suitcase full of hope and mothballs. He has since then worked as a farmhand, nature photographer, and psychotherapist; though writing has always been his core profession, obsession, and joy.

Mr. Vass has been writing poetry for fifty years, and been published in a number of literary journals. His recently published work, My Seven Deadly Sins, represents a broad retrospective of his poetic works. Another book of his poetry is soon to be released. He also has a memoir, In The Found Embrace of Your Hope, that is in the final stages of completion.


To read The 2024 Northwind Treasury, including Joseph’s winning piece, you can purchase it in paperback on Lulu, Barnes & Noble, or Amazon, or as an eBook on Kindle. To see the list of contents and winners, visit our winner’s page.

Author Spotlight: Mei Davis

Mei Davis won 1st prize in Fiction in the Northwind Writing Award 2024 for her short story Like A Pearl. It is an honor to feature her Q&A here on Raw Earth Ink as part of our promotion of truly exceptional authors.


Q & A

Candice: Mei, thank you so much for your submission. What stood out to the judges was the raw beauty of your writing, from the title, to the gradual revealing of your incredible story. “Like a Pearl” has stayed with me long after reading. Can you describe to us your process of writing this story and what it means to you?

Mei: Usually I don’t recall the particulars of writing a story, but in this case I remember very vividly the process. The idea had been stewing for some time in my mind, and I finally got a crack at it during a weekend getaway with my husband at a local beach town. While my writing is usually a trickle, this story was more like a flood, and poured out in a couple of days.

CD: Who are your influences in terms of writing if any? If they are not fiction writers, what influences you in your writing process?

Mei: Anything I read bears some influence on my writing. I read very broadly and whatever the genre, whether humor or science fiction or mystery or non-fiction, I am constantly on the prowl for effective means of conveying emotion, tone, subtlety, action, etc. My favorite writers include Jane Austen, Laura Hillenbrand, Suzanne Collins, and Agatha Christie.

CD: I have read stories of immigration and people coming to countries through all means of transport, and the horrors they encounter. Was there a personal aspect to your story? As a fellow immigrant I am interested if this was purely fictional or there was some lived-or-second-hand experience that influenced you in some way? 

Mei: I grew up immersed in the Asian-American community of Southern California, and while I don’t have direct familial connection with the Vietnamese “boat people,” I have several friends and in-laws whose families were forced to flee post-war and experienced many of the traumas described in the story. Their accounts, and my own research on the topic, were highly influential.

CD: As an immigrant, I was especially moved by the rendition of this experience and particularly felt the story was carried even further by your selection of the narrator and that narrator being a child. Did you intend from the outset to do this? What was your purpose in choosing a child narrator? 

Mei: Through parenthood, I was able to observe firsthand the viewpoint of (three!) children, and how often outside influences are buffered by their profoundly singular focus. This was the perspective of Thi. She didn’t necessarily understand why things were happening, only what was happening, and how those happenings affected her personal bubble. The broader socio-political conflicts, symbolized by the sound-bytes of the adults around her, were simply babble that had no bearing on what was most troubling in her insulated world: the fact her mother wouldn’t hold her like she used to.

And yet, is the inward struggle with feeling displaced as a second child less compelling than being displaced from a home over political conflict? In some ways, it is even more compelling, for while the latter has more far-reaching consequences, the former speaks to a more universal emotion: loss. And so, with the political baggage swept away, we are immersed in the raw emotion of the child, which in many ways makes the more nuanced emotions of the adults, with whom we might share no similarities or experiences, all the more relatable.

CD: People can read such experiences from the safety of their armchair and say they are moved, but do you think fiction can change people’s minds or opinions about big subjects like immigration and cruelty? 

Mei: Narratives often have an advantage over non-fiction because they are designed to be entertaining. For many, it is easier to pick up a novel than a newspaper, and in that way I do believe fiction can be a starting point for understanding. But I think true and effective change doesn’t live in fiction, but in doing the hard work of going out and talking to different people, listening to different viewpoints, hearing the real stories from those who have lived them.

CD: I felt there were many influences here, not least the idea of sewing all you owned into a toy, and yet, it was not obvious from the start that this would be the ‘sacrifice’ to save the little girl’s mother from more abuse. In your opinion, what is the significance of this? 

Mei: Again, this touches on the dichotomy between the perspective of Thi vs the adults around her, namely her father. A child giving up her doll is no less compelling than a man giving up his fortune. In their respective perspectives, the stakes are the same. Thi had no concept of the worth of the “marbles” inside of Chau doll. But to her, Chau doll had immeasurable worth. To her, Chau doll was priceless, its value eclipsed only by one thing, the most valuable thing, in her eyes. Once again, the perspective of the child brings a certain clarity to the emotions, to the concept of sacrifice, that might otherwise be clouded with the anxieties and pragmatism of adulthood. Thi gave up her most precious things without a second thought. Would we have done the same?

CD: Do you write in one style or play with varied styles and genres? 

Mei: Like my reading habits, my writing is very broad and spans almost every genre. I ascribe to the idea that it is harder to make someone laugh than it is to make them cry, and make occasional forays into humor. I’ve also written a fair number of speculative stories. As a carryover from my fanfic days, I also enjoy writing adaptations of folk tales and myths.

CD: Tell us a little about what brought you to becoming a writer, what your story is there, and how it evolved from the time you began writing, until now? 

Mei: I wrote on and off from a young age, but really only began writing extensively as a young adult. Like a lot of writers, I cut my teeth in the fanfic world, playing around with various points of view, tenses, genres, styles. It was a great training ground to practice the fundamentals of writing without getting bogged down with the painstaking process of plotting and originating ideas. Once I had grown sufficient skills as a writer in general, I moved on to original fiction.

CD: What were the crux messages you were conveying in your story? Do you feel there was anything you’d have liked to say more about, but didn’t because of length restrictions or other reasons? 

Mei: In the last line of the story the boat is heading towards the coastline, and it is there, in the hope of a new horizon, where an uncomfortable truth lives.

As descendants of immigrants, my brothers, my in-laws, my friends, myself and many others like us, would not exist without the upheavals and traumas that launched our antecedents from home countries. Our lives have risen out of the ashes of their broken pasts, a bittersweet reminder for me to be compassionate, to be humble, and above all, to be thankful.


Author bio: A former Angeleno, Mei Davis currently resides in the cold wilds of Metro Detroit with her husband, children, and an oft-neglected laptop. She has previously been published by prairiefire, Translunar Traveler’s Lounge, Sans Press, Parsec Ink, and has an upcoming publication with Kinsman Quarterly.


To read The 2024 Northwind Treasury, including Mei’s winning piece, you can purchase it in paperback on Lulu, Barnes & Noble, or Amazon, or as an eBook on Kindle. To see the list of contents and winners, visit our winner’s page.

The 2024 Northwind Treasury front cover and link to purchase
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undone in spectacle

Prog2Goal

A weight loss journey

Driftwood Imagery

Photography and Visual Art by Adam Shurte

A Thought In A Billion

Our thoughts define us, so let's focus on a few.

Jeffrey S. Markovitz

Our lives are the words of this book

Letters For Anna

Our story made the last page of the newspaper. Witnesses said they'd seen a "madwoman with two paint-bombs suddenly appear."

Christopher Hoggins Artist

Art, random musings and the occasional inflammatory viewpoint of autistic artist Christopher Hoggins