Terri Cohlene
Terri Cohlene is the editor of Godiva Speaks I & II: Celebrations of Women Poets in Olympia . Her poems have appeared in literary magazines and anthologies such as: Shadowplay, The Raven Chronicles: Last Call, Pontoon, and America at War. She looks forward to the 2026 release of Unsinkable: Poetry Inspired by the Titanic. She has taught the craft of writing at The Richard Hugo House and Whatcom and Shoreline Community Colleges.
The author of nine books for children, and the former creative director of a small press, she is co-designer (with her son Ross Cowman) of two tabletop role-playing games for Heart of the Deernicorn. She also wrote and assisted her daughter Jody Cohlene Urbas in two productions of the stage play A Fine Circle of Friends.
Landing at last in Olympia, Washington, via Bellingham, Bothell, Juanita, Kirkland, Mercer Island, Mt. Baker, Green Lake, Queen Anne, Pullman, Skyway, Renton & Cashmere, Terri knows her way around Washington state. It is here she divides her time & creative energies between writing, editing, game design & serving on the board of the Olympia Poetry Network, helping produce monthly poetry programs as well as special events such as Laureate LoveFests: international celebrations of poets laureate. She recently co-curated Let It Burn, Let It Float: the 35th-year anthology for OPN subscribers.
In this tentative world where Alice-in-Wonderland feels right at home, Terri Cohlene finds sustenance in exploring the contrariness of it all. Sometimes up is down and down is up, and “bones are needed to protect the heart!” And sometimes, blackbirds make conspiracies.
Visit Terri’s webpage: terricohlene.com
A Conspiracy of Blackbirds: $19.99
Poem from A Conspiracy of Blackbirds
Black-and-White Christmas, 1953
You are no longer this little girl sitting in a wicker rocking chair perfectly sized for a three-year-old and her baby doll— the chair rescued by your grandmother from an alley trash heap, repaired and graced with glossy white paint and a new, floral seat. These are no longer your young brothers, Bryan with his truck, Gregory with his airplane— nor your Christmas tree, the one with silvery icicles, tinsel, and homemade paper chains, abandoned because of big brother’s asthma. No, this is not your happy family— barefooted in pj’s, plaid bathrobe, flannel nightie—staring like deer into the Brownie’s lens, uncertain what to do when Mother says, Say, cheese! —uncertain how to feel when everyone goes away.
