Washington Writers' Publishing House
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WWPH WRITES 110 offers winds, floods, and flight in poetry by Yvette Neisser and David Alberto Fernández, and in the soaring speculative short, short story by Nicole Brazemore.
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Our 2025 Year-End Giving Campaign is now underway. Please consider a donation to your Washington Writers' Publishing House (501c3 nonprofit since 1975!) to further our efforts to publish and celebrate writers from DC, Maryland, and Virginia, to fund our WWPH Fellowship program, and to continue to grow as a vital and vibrant literary force. Be one of the first 25 to donate $75.00 or more by this Friday, December 5th and receive a limited edition, hand-crafted set of 6 letterpress poetry broadsides (12 x 9 frameable posters including work by Grace Cavalieri, E. Ethelbert Miller and more) in a beautiful matching letter-pressed folder as a thank you. Or, simply donate to us. We are grateful for all contributions. Donate now.
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Please join us at our last AMERICA'S FUTURE reading of the year. It will take place on Thursday, December 11th at 7:30 pm at the Sandy Spring Museum in Sandy Spring, Maryland, and it will be hosted by the MoCo Underground reading series. Please join us for this very special culmination of 14 literary salons and readings this fall, celebrating the writers of America's Future. Details are below.
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Caroline Bock & Jona Colson
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Yvette Neisser is an award-winning poet, Spanish translator, and founder of the DC-Area Literary Translators Network. Her most recent collection is Iron into Flower (Finishing Line, 2022), and her latest co-translation of Venezuelan Maria Teresa Ogliastri’s work is forthcoming from Carnegie Mellon University Press. She lives in Silver Spring, Maryland.
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photo credit: Mark Kokkoros
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David Alberto Fernández was born in Miami, Florida, in 1972. He published his first chapbook of poems, Flowers beyond here (2020) during the pandemic. His bilingual collection of poems, Mundo se consume / World consumes itself (Beltway Editions, 2025) has attracted positive popular and critical attention. He is currently the Associate Editor of Beltway Poetry Quarterly and is also the co-founder and co-curator of the Beltway Café, a seasonal poetry series and literary salon meeting at the MLK Library in the heart of Washington, D.C., since 2023. In October 2025, David was selected as the poet laureate of the City of Takoma Park. For the past two decades, he has also proudly worked as a librarian in the Library of Congress.
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THE AWAKENING
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The energy of the ballroom washed over Selene as the elevator doors opened. The closest groups of people trailed off. Heads turned toward her. Another night, this attention would suffocate her. But not tonight. Her dress was a masterpiece, every inch handcrafted. She lifted her chin and plastered on a megawatt smile. She was a shoo-in this year. The boning in the bodice dug into her ribs. She was barely able to breathe, but it was worth it. The bodice was composed of an intricate design of pomegranate and papaya seeds designed to mimic the wings of a Crimson Patch, while her tiered skirt was composed of Moondrop grapes. Her date’s tux complemented her gown.
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Eyes followed her, and Selene put an extra sway in her step. There was a prickling on her arm and Selene smiled at the ant crawling up her forearm.
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Camille, her oldest companion and first rival, walked over with her arms wide. Selene wanted tempted to run the other direction but instead leaned in for a double air kiss, careful not to crush each other’s dresses.
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“Oh, my gawd, Selene, you’ve outdone yourself!” Camille said.
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“I know, right! It cost a fortune. And look at you, you look Ahh-mazing, as usual!” Camille was wearing the same dress from last year, with minor adjustments. It was sad, really. Selene didn’t like to gossip, but she’d heard Camille’s family was struggling.
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On the dance floor, Selene was swept along by the music. Her body heat warmed her dress, releasing a sweet, peppery fragrance. As her date twirled her out and back in, the seeds smashed against him. Crimson splotches bloomed against his white shirt.
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Finally, the MC swept onto the stage. The crowd was quiet, expectant. It was the moment she’d waited for, the announcement for the Queen of the Gala. People crowded her, crushing her dress and bruising the fruit. Sticky, sweet juices trickled down her legs and pooled in her shoes. A persistent gnat buzzed by her ear. She caught it and brought it to her mouth.
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“Ladies and Gents, I’m happy to be with you tonight for the 67th annual Lepidoptera Gala,” the MC said. “We’re excited to announce that we exceeded our goal to raise five million dollars for the Lepidoptera Society, thanks to a generous donation from the Skoros family.”
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Selene felt their surreptitious glances and knew they were thinking the donation was a bribe, but she ignored their envy.
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“We’re excited to use this money to continue our research into the understanding and conservation of our flying brethren. When we were founded 67 years ago by the esteemed naturalist Charles Manning, he was….”
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Selene tuned out the MC. She’d heard this a dozen times. Couldn’t he get to the important bit? Tonight was her night. She could feel it in the sinews of her being, ready to transform, transmute. She’d never felt comfortable in her skin, and finally, she could be reborn into her true self.
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“And now, for the moment you’ve waited for, tonight’s Lepidoptera Queen, who will embody our aspirations to truly be truly empathic with their order.” The MC’s words brought her attention back. “For all she has done to further our understanding of our beloved brethren. Selene Skoros, come on up.”
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Selene beamed as she walked up to the stage, toes squelching in her shoes. She stopped in front of the MC and waited for the crown to be placed on her head. The MC looked into her eyes.
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“Selene, this is a solemn responsibility, not to be underestimated. With this transfiguration, you will be reborn into all the radiant glory of nature. Do you swear to embody our mission and to serve as our representative in all aspects?”
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“I do.” She’d waited so long.
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Selene was relieved to finally sit down on the throne. Her dress, bruised and overripe, began to rot. The smell had turned sour with had the tang of vinegar.
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As the music started, Selene stared into the sea of dancers, entranced by the kaleidoscopic patterns. Sensing the people around them, dancers moved in overlapping motions, never colliding, like the mating dance of fireflies. At dusk, Selene would lay on the lawn and stare up into the night to watch, envious for freedom that wings would provide.
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A fly landed on her face, tickling her cheek. Hordes of ants crawled up her legs. She traced the line to the floor where it wound around the stage. An army of spiders weaved an intricate webbing between her arms and the throne. Soon, she was covered with the strong silk, restraining her.
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The ants continued to climb until they reached her face. They crawled in her nostrils and tickled her sinuses. She fought the urge to sneeze. The ants crawled over each other, blocking her nose. She opened her mouth, and the ants streamed into her mouth, over sharp, craggy teeth, along her tongue. They crawled down her throat as the spiders continued their weaving. It was warm and humid inside her cocoon. The layers of silk deafened the music; only the soft, thumping bass penetrated. The dazzling lights of the ballroom softened into a soft glow that emanated through the walls.
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Her skin turned to jelly and molted off in thick clumps. Her bones lost their rigidity, turning into soft cartilage as they bent into new shapes and sharp angles. Her muscles and ligaments tearing and repairing to adjust to the changing geometry of her body.
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After several hours braising in her own juices, she was ready. She pushed and pulled against the restraining silk, strands tearing. Claustrophobic now, frantic, she strained against the fabric. Tearing, ripping, at last she was free. The remaining fluid oozed off her, the scales covering her body quickly dried. She unfurled her wings. The overhead skylight retracted, and Selene could see the full moon beaming down. She tensed her legs and flapped her wings to spring upward, soaring into the cool dark night toward freedom.
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Nicole Brazemore’s writing has been published in the America’s Future anthology from Washington Writers’ Publishing House, and has been shortlisted for The Good Life Review HoneyBee Prize, and the Dreamer’s Creative Micro Nonfiction contest.
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America’s Future With MoCo Underground - Last Event of 2025!
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JOIN WWPH AT MOCO UNDERGROUND AT THE SANDY SPRING MUSEUM THIS HOLIDAY SEASON Featured readers from AMERICA'S FUTURE include Jessica Simon, Neha Misra, Fran Abrams, Laurie Ward, Kay White Drew, Edward Belfar, Caroline Bock, and Julia Tagliere. Special holiday cookie reception with writers. Copies of AMERICA'S FUTURE on holiday sale! Bring a canned or dried good for donation to Olney's …
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DONATE today to your Washington Writers' Publishing House and keep us going strong for another 50 years. And for donations $75.00 or more, we have a beautiful gift! A set of 6 poetry broadsides (12 x 9 posters) letter-pressed on quality paper and designed by writer/artist Suzanne Feldman featuring the poetry of Grace Cavalieri, E. Ethelbert Miller, Carolyn Forche, Sid Gold, Holly Karapetkova, and Eric Baker. These are limited-edition sets — available to the first 25 donors who give $75.00 or more before December 5th. All donations greatly appreciated! More information and easy ways to donate here.
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For the best value--and the most support to your Washington Writers' Publishing House -- order AMERICA'S FUTURE with WWPH DIRECT. ORDER here for the holidays!
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Big Congratulations again to all our 2025 Manuscript Contest Winners!
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WWPH WRITES is open for submissions, and we are actively reading for winter of 2026. We are now a paying market ($25.00, which we encourage you to pay forward and use it to purchase a book from a small press). We are looking for poetry (up to 3 poems) and prose (up to 1,000 words of fiction or creative nonfiction). Free to submit. More details at our Submittable page here.
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Here's to a safe, happy and healthy holiday season for us all!
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Prose editor, WWPH Writes
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Poetry editor, WWPH Writes
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Copyright © 2025 The Washington Writers' Publishing House, All rights reserved.
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