With Thanks
2nd Avenue Press would not exist had it not been
for the support of the following individuals:
Linda Diane Wray King - (gone but never forgotten),
Atlas Carter, Eleanor (Nori) Carter, and Kathy Whitten.
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In Loving Memory of
Linda Diane Wray King
2nd Avenue Press was created to honor the memory of the founder's mother,
Linda "Diane" Wray King.
My Mother
(a note from the press' founder)
Mama might have been the strongest woman I've ever known. Although our past as mother and daughter was not without its blemishes, everything changed for the better in 2013. I sent her a copy of my poetry memoir, "Memory Chose a Woman's Body", with many of the poems shedding light on a past that also spotlighting the pain my mom had caused at one time. She was faced with a life-changing choice--to withhold silence and not support my story, or to accept my vulnerability. My mother chose neither. She sent me a colorful handwritten letter stating that she now knows "why the caged bird sings" [Maya Angelou] and would support any endeavor I decided to pursue. Her support helped me to speak at over 300 events, helping abuse and depression survivors realize they weren't alone.
Months before Mama passed away, she read through my 2nd poetry manuscript, "Love is the Dying Dog", and told me that her wish was that I would help other writers do what I'd achieved.
2nd Avenue Press is here because my mother believed in 2nd chances, forgiveness, changing for the better, and that silence is not golden. We are here because she was here for me.
Mama
From the Poetry Memoir "Memory Chose a Woman's Body"
The permission I waited for,
the confirmation that
I am more than skin, teeth, and nail—
it arrived.
There is a heaven encased in our future
and the hell of the past fades slowly,
its deep violet smoothes into soft gradients of purple
now all delivered as a small girl
after many deaths.
Even the skin of this new body has heartbeats
and changes our own primary tunes.
I ran through Virginia corn fields
and London streets
calling your name
with a drunken mind
fiery legs,
exhausted voice.
And years later,
you call for your missing baby;
I crawl home.
I arrived home, a woman you didn't recognize,
but accepted and anticipated
like a baby weeks before its eyes meet yours.
And this makes all of what I have lived
worthwhile.