Sunday Showcase

No. 09 - Dannah Cahn

Dannah Cahn

We are excited to present three poems by Dannah Cahn this week on the Sunday Showcase. Dannah’s striking poetic voice is as ethereal as it is direct. Her subject matter is intimately tied to the movement and change of human bodies through space and time. It will take you by the hand and pull you to your inner edge. Go with it.

About the poet:

Dannah is a US-Israeli creative, writer, and mover. Her work draws from an intimate investigation of body and spirit and the forever tug of a nomad soul to places near and far. She has a degree in Visual Communications and is trained in yoga, body work, Traditional Chinese Medicine, and Tantric traditions. She applies poetry to life the way mystics use herbs — as both medicine and magic.

Alongside the magazine, Sunday Showcase provides additional opportunities for emerging artists and writers to share their work and gain exposure. There are no themes or deadlines, simply email us your best work for a chance to get featured across all of our channels. We accept writing of any genre and visual art of all mediums.

HOW TO SUBMIT

Send submissions to writehausmagazine@gmail.com. Be sure to include:

  • “Sunday Showcase” in the subject line
  • Your name
  • Your writing or artwork
  • A short bio
  • A headshot
  • Links to your instagram or website

On the way to somewhere

By Dannah Cahn

Deer trails in dry grass
my father adamant, that no,
we absolutely will not
take the paved route. Once,
on a mountain in Nepal I followed a
cherub-faced Colombian man up the
wrong way until ground turned into
cliff and stone and whispered to me of
death and I cried.
Often I write directions in places
where muscle meets muscle
and is sewn by skin,
long winded and soft and only asking
for witness.
Everyday I watch humans doing things
for no other reason
than love. I’m sure
these paths lead somewhere,
even if it isn’t safe
even if it’s never safe.

Holy

By Dannah Cahn

say a prayer
use my name
wet the words
round the vowels
ask impolitely
whine a little
maybe
god will listen
when you get on
all fours

The feminine urge to become art

By Dannah Cahn

I like marking my small self
watch the fear flush to wound
and fade
into mundane
brought to light only by
stray glance, inflection of question
on a sun struck day.
What does anything
mean, I wish to reply
What does it mean when
nectarine
dribbles down your chin,
when a dog howls at
balsamic moon, when
your mother is sad?

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