Bo-Arts // Woman of the Year (Part 1)

Boshemia introduces a new bi-weekly art/literature initiative: Bo-Arts. Twice a month, we will share creative writing and visual art submissions from our readers and folks who identify as feminist to give a larger audience to emerging creatives. Our goal is to provide a platform for feminist artists to share and discuss their work.

The first installment of Bo-Arts, Woman of the Year: Part 1, is the first of five poem-and-photography collaborations brought to you by a duo from Frederick, Maryland, USA.  Anna See-Jachowski is a poet and feminist thrilled to be working with Boshemia. She plans to self-publish a book of these poems and others in 2017. Anna, her partner Matt, and their four cats live in Frederick. Emily Jessee is a young feminist creative who uses platforms like photography to portray the harshness and vulnerability of the world around her.

Artist's Statement - from Anna

 These poems are part of a series I plan to self-publish this year, titled Woman of the Year. Each poem represents a period in a young artist's life in which they find love, a muse, and desperately seek the meaning of that experience. The five poems are a taste of what the series will offer, and explore the deadly combination of desperation and anger felt when a lover leaves;  the lovely vulnerability of falling asleep around people you love; the ritual of hedonism in summertime; and finally, the artist's banishment of her muse for the sake of her own recovery from trauma. I want to share these poems with others because they are illustrations of my own personal experiences, but also because I hope that they will speak to the collective, shared experience that people have when they fall in love, and in doing so, discover things about themselves they weren't aware of before. It's an important part of every feminist's life, regardless of how they identify themselves, or their culture. I love that Boshemia has given me this opportunity, and to other feminist artists to share their work- their heart and soul, in many ways- with the world.



dim lights from

small ceiling lamps,

ten or so in a row,

reflect off the

short tumbler glasses

that hold our

too expensive cocktails.

mine is draining more

slowly that yours,

but then we could say

the same of the light

in our faces, this season.


(tolerance is a

practiced mistress-

your liver is close to

shot, probably,

and my features


too well.)


i am telling you,

as i draw


on your white


that a tattoo

is only as permanent

as we are.

and your eyes are wide

like saucers,

flying higher than

the stars we

haven’t discovered yet,

though i told you, also,

how (your


your fear of

what’s known

is tied to the moon,

my janus-born darling.


you’re (still




in the morning,

as you wash the ink

off, and roll

a cigarette.

i wash the smell of

american spirits

from my hair,

trying to scrub away an

aryan ghost

from my head.


we were too late.


the night we met,

no constellation

could have predicted

the sweet


of what i penned

upon you-

i drew a heart

on (in) your hand.



my december-born fear

of (intolerance)

what’s unknown

leaves your mistress

haunted and



i was too late.


Look our for Woman of the Year: Part 2, coming in February 2017.