Rebloom is an anthology of womxn’s poetry exploring the strength, resilience and empowerment that can be found in the lived experiences and stories told by womxn.Throughout history, resilience has been one of womxn's most remarkable traits. When you see the word resilience, you can think of a patch of unkept land that has gone wild. It’s full of colourful wildflowers, an array of bugs, butterflies and bees congregate there. It’s self sufficient, taking what it needs from the world so that it. Just. Keeps. Growing.But here's the thing about that. This wilderness faces many threats. They come thick and fast - a rogue walker tramples on some of the flowers, a storm floods the soil, a frost chills the ground. These things are inevitable. Sometimes the effects are tiny, sometimes much more significant. And yet in this thriving wilderness, life always finds a way back. Blooms re flower, creatures keep coming back and the land, it continues to take what it needs. It. Just. Keeps. Growing.Point Positive Publishing believes that womxn have that same quality and we wanted to showcase that through this collection of poetry. ❀ Penny Blackburn ❀ Jennifer Bostian ❀ Kelly Butcher ❀ Vanessa Caraveo ❀ Anannya Dasgupta ❀ Nikki Marrone ❀ S. Rupsha Mitra ❀ KB Nelson ❀ Kathryn O'Driscoll ❀ Louise O'Neill's ❀ Somjeeta Pandey ❀ Heather Pease ❀ Glady Ruiz ❀ Marjorie Sanders ❀ J.S.Watts ❀ Lynn White ❀ Jeanette Willert

Rebloom: A Womxns Anthology of Resilience

Everything Left Here

after Joy Harjo, Perhaps the World Ends Here


The dining table sits in the nucleus of our home. It is where our family begins. No matter what, it’s here, we gather. A seat for everyone, with extras to share, where all are accepted.

This solid veneer, tall in its stature has been shelter when the earth quaked. A fort that frequently houses giggles, pillows, blankets, and so many books.  

It’s where hands pass food, or hold each other; where bottles are uncorked. It’s where problems 

are solved, both in algebra and life. 

History is ingrained in its edges, leaving its mark. Mistakes are forgotten here, they are harmless. Memories treasured, turned into a good story to be shared through the years. 

Games happen here, with dice and spinning wheels, our battles always against ships, never against each other.  It is the place a teacher and a student learn from each other. 

Has served as a desk for a budding writer, and where the box carrying a book debuted. It is a place to birth ideas, where a child grew into an artist, still creates, trying to leave their mark. 

It is where our family comes together, mourns someone who isn’t here. Everything is left here. It is always a place to provide whatever is needed. 

This table has never been empty and for that we are thankful; is available, no matter the hour of the day. And if the world ends, this is where we will be, surrounded by fresh flowers and sweets. 



Star Cluster Theory

The moon controls the tides 

and some say, people. 

I have been known to howl, hunch shoulders and scream. 

Let the harshness of words shape me, become unyielding like bone. 

Had my arm pulled out of socket, twice. 


I crack myself up, used to make jokes at my own expense, they cost 

me more than just my dignity. It took years to learn 

what I was willing to allow 

self-harm is more than inflicted scars. 


I am not untarnished, or a bullet train, designed 

with precision. Nor am I a box of random parts. Cannot be stuffed 


under a couch, this is where the dust bunnies live. Always find a pen 

when I lift up the cushions. 

Can never find my shoes, but I still know where we lost the car when I was three, Daddy we parked

in Goofy. Prefer being barefoot wearing a crown of flowers, billowing 

dress, rings on my fingers and toes that 

glimmer and sparkle. 

Was taught how to change the oil, replace a spark plug and flip 

a car, safely, before 

I learned to drive on a freeway. 

My friend uses the gym the same way men

use her. Told me I should join yoga just like how my dad said I should enlist 

or get married, all these things would give me order. 

And I’m not a do as you’re told, follow a traditional path kinda girl. Got pregnant without 

a ring and fell in love with my-self before I ever said I do.  


Raised a child, who paints the universe on the back of my hands. Is the star 

in starting our family, not wishing my life away. They are the light, the reason, 

and the why - I know - 

love always wins.  


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The Los Angeles Press

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Scenes of Southern California, a Directory of So Cal Poets