Shawn Aveningo Sanders
Shawn Aveningo Sanders grew up in the suburbs of St. Louis, Missouri. A true “show me” girl at heart, she loves writing and reading poems that show instead of tell stories to stir emotion and move the needle forward on the empathy meter, in hopes of creating a more compassionate world. Shawn graduated summa cum laude from the University of Maryland while living in Stuttgart, Germany, and has been lucky enough to live in a variety of states including Alabama, Virginia, Georgia, Indiana, and California. A proud mom of three and Nana to one adorable little girl, she now shares the creative life with her husband Robert, in Oregon where together they have published over 160 poetry books through their press, The Poetry Box®.
Shawn’s poetry has appeared in print worldwide in Australia, Croatia, England, France, the Netherlands, South Africa, and the United States. Her poems have been published in literary journals including ONE ART, CALYX, MacQueen’s Quinterly, Willawaw, Sheila- Na-Gig, Quartet, Timberline Review, Naugatuck River Review, About Place Journal, Tule Review, Snapdragon, Northampton Poetry Review, Amsterdam Quarterly, and others. She was also the editor of The Poeming Pigeon (2014–2024).
Shawn’s previous work includes What She Was Wearing, a chapbook that reveals her #metoo secret after forty years. This chapbook, Pockets, was a finalist in the 2024 Concrete Wolf Chapbook Contest.
Her poems have garnered multiple nominations for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net, as well as won or placed in contests sponsored by the Oregon Poetry Association, Lincoln Writers, Benicia Literary Arts, and Sacramento News & Review. She also won first place in the inaugural El Dorado County Poetry Slam, garnering her a prize of $107—Who says poetry doesn’t pay?!
Instagram: @shawn_aveningo_sanders
Website:RedShoePoet.com
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Poem from Pockets
Leap Day
I found them in the coat pocket of my faux leopard coat unworn for four years of winters. To my astonishment, they had been waiting patiently all this time— one thousand four hundred forty more minutes. A discovery luckier than sofa change or a wad of dollar bills. Better than scribbled lines for that someday I’ll finish it poem. It’s like finding that old grocery list, with every item crossed off, from the first time I cooked you dinner, your favorite— Spaghetti Bolognese. And now, eighty-six thousand four hundred extra seconds, right here in my hand. What a find! Would you mind if I spent every single one with you?
