Author: Powell, Mick

Welcome to Variability

Dear friends, feminists, allies, and accomplices, It is with immense pride that I present our inaugural issue of the Wild Tongue Journal with you. Variability is an intersectional feminist exploration of now–within, we feature works that respond to or reflect on the current moment: the COVID-19 pandemic, the movements for Black lives, the U.S. presidential […]

Letter from the Interns

Needless to say, the Fall 2020 semester was not what any of us were expecting. The COVID-19 pandemic has changed our day-to-day lives, and the risk posed to public health and safety has undoubtedly sparked major anxiety and unrest. While the pandemic has disrupted our lives in many ways, it has also brought self-reflection. Having […]

3 Poems

Instructions for Helping It Feel Better (or at least different) 1.Rest, don’t just lay there with your eyes closed. 2.Don’t self-advertise, leave some things to be enjoyed by you and you alone. Take the stickers off of that water bottle. Rethink your next tattoo. 3.Try to come to terms with the realization that nothing lasts […]

2 Poems

Visiting the Witch Trials Memorial We still have our Salems. – Elie Wiesel Beneath the locust tree I ponder, pressing my back against its trunk. Another stone pulls my focus. No one wishes my ancestors were witches more than me, but, My God, the hangings and hysteria of it all. Will the final stone ever […]

Tug of War

Artist Statement: This piece examines the complicated relationship between capitalism and the patriarchy. I was inspired to create the collage after reading “Always Be Optimizing”, one of the essays in Jia Tolentino’s New York Times Bestseller, Trick Mirror. She writes, “women are genuinely trapped at the intersection of capitalism and patriarchy – two systems that, […]

3 Pieces

_____________________________________________________________________________________ Artist Statement: I tell stories through illustrations that capture moments from my life. When I reach out to you, I want it to mean something. Growing up every word would stay caught in my throat, so I pretended I didn’t hate the silence. I sat where I was expected to; it was much safer […]