Victoria Phillips

Victoria reading at the 2019 Underground Arts Fair

We here at the Windward Review are proud to debut our next Author's Spotlight, showcasing the powerful work of writer and contributor Victoria Phillips! Writing out of East Texas, Victoria is a force of nature in the state's literary community, featured at a variety of events and having her work published in a variety of magazines and journals, including The Windward Review.

Her work champions the inner strength, the soul of spoken-word style poetry, and the intimacy of human relationships; all while challenging our traditionally-held views on writing, opting to spread her deeply personal work as forms of release and political activism. Make no mistake, Victoria's work is profound and rooted in an extraordinarily-crafted real, and each piece is convincing of her deep understanding and mastery of the craft.

I hope you enjoy Victoria's work as much as we do!

​ TWO YEARS IN DALLAS II
 
 
You are lost to me,
            aren't you,
                        Love?
You do not see me standing here
            painted and posed
                        in my prettiest dress
 
Straining to catch your
            attention
                        affection
                                    anything
to remind me WHY I live here
            in this hell-hole
                        with you,
Why I stripped my voice of all inflection
            gathered your words into my mouth
                        and hungrily swallowed your will.
 
You stare back
            eyes unclear
                        pupils dilated in the rush.
I strain to recall their real color
            or how the tiny lines around them
                        would crinkle when you'd smile,
But it has been
            so long
                        since you smiled
                                    at me.
 
You know,
            I wish it were a woman,
                        At least then I might feel I could try!
                                                                     
I could arch my back
            and swing my hips
                        and touch you with soothing hands.
 
But this?
            this powdered
                        polluted unreality
that you pull inside yourself...
            So passionate!
                        so passionate
about everything else.
Is it because I am a constant?
            I've always been there and always will be
No buzz whirl zip zing
            snort huff pay puff
I am like the coffee grounds you spilled by the sink
            used up and annoying
                        waiting.
 
And SMACK! CRACK! You’re losing weight again
            Your pale skin stretches sickly
                        over bones that poke my hand
Spiteful, mocking, sharp, little bones
            for they are always with you
                        while I may only touch you
when
            at last
                        you sleep.
 
I've finished cleaning now
            again
Finished stepping over the bodies
            of your newest coke-fiend friends
                        emaciated and drooling
                                    on the shit-stained floor
That I must clean
            and scrub
                        and scour
to keep some semblance of sane.
 
The rent’s not paid
            the door's been kicked in
                        and the cops are waiting down the street.
 
But I stand here cooking
            (knowing you won't eat)
I stand here cooking
            (flour-water biscuits, no money for meat)
I stand here cooking
            because it's all I can do
 
Because I'm addicted to loving
            I'm a junkie too.

Victoria with her fiance, JC Cook--a local activist and current mayoral candidate in Ben Wheeler, TX.

Victoria performing at The Forge

Titles published by Dr. Charlotte Renk, with Victoria serving as the editor

TWITCHY
 
Nervous now
Because my apologies don’t work
And though they do mean I give a fuck
That will never be enough for a failed messianic
Who loathes the look of his own humanity
Thus must be the judge of mine. 

Activism serving as both a vital part of Victoria's life and a catalyst for her masterful work, Victoria was in attendance protesting a Trump rally in Dallas, TX

Performing collaborative piece, "Sisters of Courage" with mother Charlotte Renk and Claire Phillips-Latham at the Elmer Kelton Library Festival in San Angelo, TX.

​DEBTOR, HOLY UNBOUND
 
Tell me again that I owe you.
You must have overlooked my payments
in the seeping box beneath your bed:
my left arm, gnarled and smashed,
that will never again be a dancer’s arm, arcing through gentle air.
It will never lift a crying child to calm.
 
I have learned to discern the different daily pains
indicating permanent nerve death--
indicating further uselessness.
I taught classes in a cast that year
before you decided my career, too, would be much better
casketed--
along with every need for which you’d make me
swear and grovel
to prove no impropriety
as you crafted betrayal into tiny knots
that still fester under my skin.
(The box is rather filled with blood, but you never seemed to mind that.)
 
See, also, my dead dog,
killed for my disobedience--
the audacity to march with women in Washington when you said I should not.
My sign said, “Hatred broke my arm. Please don’t let it break my country.”
It did anyway, so check carefully,
my faith is tucked between my dog’s front paws.
It was always small, but so was he.
Did he cry like I did when you hurt him?
 
My childless belly,
my ruined face,
my ability to discern the voice of God,
my errant heart that was always strong
until it learned from you
how it feels to be dangled and swung by ankles,
afraid my head would hit the walls
right before it did.
Your hand around my throat, squeezing,
and I will never not know now
what is to see love grown rancid
as I am wrenched and thrown
down the crumbling hall.
 
So tell me again that I owe you,
as I learn to dance
faceless, armless, childless, and faithless;
lifting my shaking fist
in full and open revolt!
Tell me, again,
as you hold this box of blood
and I walk away on bones
that somehow still sing holy.

Victoria Phillips, M.A, is an active and outspoken creative force in our region. She has been published in Writing Texas, Rio Review, theywhosearch, and the Lake Country Gazette. Prior to the ongoing pandemic, Victoria was a featured reader at Langdon Review Weekend, the Mellow Daze of Summer concert, Vermin Supreme's Cirque du Pone, the Underground Arts Festival, and at The Forge in Ben Wheeler.

Victoria has also dabbled in the professional elements of the industry, serving as the Poetry Coordinator for the Underground Arts Festival in 2018 with guest Michelle Hartman, and as Editor for her mother, Dr. Charlotte Renk's collections of poetry (featured above). Her teaching experience includes college-level English, adult education, community literacy, as well as private tutoring.