About Us



We are a group of writers based in Dorchester, Massachusetts.

In art history, pentimenti are painted-over images which reappear once the surface layer begins to fade. These ghostly images tell a story about the artist's evolving thought process.

We as writers mine our pasts, imaginations, and experiences to uncover our own pentimenti, the images that we paint over and hide but which eventually resurface one way or another. We come from different places and generations, but share a belief in the power of writing to challenge, heal, delight, and inspire.

Saturday, March 24, 2012

Hear Our Voices Live on April 19!




Exciting news!  On Thursday, April 19, the Pentimenti Women will be featured guests at the Haley House Cafe as part of their weekly performance series Art is Life Itself.  We  hope you will come hear our work brought to life in each of our unique voices.   

Thursday, April 19, 6-9PM (The Pentimenti Women will take the stage at 7:30PM.)
Haley House Bakery Cafe
12 Dade Street
Roxbury, MA 02119

If you are unfamiliar with Haley House, it is a wonderful organization that believes in (delicious) food with a purpose and the power of community.  Learn more about them here.

Friday, March 23, 2012

Life Love






At dawn’s first push into blushing light
velvet black lashes flutter as monarch’s wings.
My struggle with waking lost, and the veil of sleep drawn back.

I see you, seeing me as though for the first time.

I can hear all in those eyes as I fall into their deepness.
With wondrous thought you ask,
Who is she?
What is she,
that her mere being holds me with a power super-natural?
Her skin soft as sky cloud, lips a deep wine perfect in silhouette with
a supple sweetness that would drive the most stalwart insane with desire
and at the same moment powerless at a sober sharp wit tumbling from them
cutting to the quick.

I see you, still strong: a warrior worthy of ballads sung, stories told.
Time finds you still tall, wise yet yielding, with a heart holding sweetness beside
the shadows of pain past and present now and again flickering ever so slightly
across your brow. 

I see you, as your fingers lightly brush a wayward wisp of hair from my face tapping the tip of my nose in their travel to my heart still
beating in time with yours…magnificent, powerful.
From somewhere and nowhere I hear my name and with it a knowing you will always be here listening, waiting for my call.

You now see me seeing you as if for the first time
the last time.

Shani's Song



I am a Brown Skinned Woman

Warm, so warm in sienna, bark, mahogany, color wrapping around the beginning with a hot cinnamon sweetness.


I am a Brown Skinned Woman

Born of dark and oh so darker queens of fierce, fearless mighty Amazons

The strength of my loins held rivers, mighty oceans, and love to the world.


I am a Brown Skinned Woman

Love, loving, lover, holding heart and soul tight within, ancient music emanating from my secret place.


I am a Brown Skinned Woman

A comely Mother of the Ages 

Tasting of strength, tasting of life

Here now,

Here forever.

I am.

Cover Me



I have seen some bridges, you know…I’ve seen them.
Liken to those in my dreaming eye 
covered with Heaven’s hand, those long ago hallowed halls of travel to
passion and the raw beauty of nature -
God’s very breath.

I have touched some bridges, I tell you…I’ve touched them,
and they crooned the sultry longings, pain and desires of Lady Day,
the cool, low, creamy tones of Johnny Hartman as we melted into one another
sweeping, swaying, swinging

I have walked on some bridges, I say…I’ve walked on them,
as the rippling rivers underneath spoke of magic
creating a love lasting all the way to forever.

I have danced on some bridges; I remember…I’ve danced on them.
Oh, to once again dance with you so stand-still slowly on those old wise planks
of long ago that sung time by with their melodic aged creaking as they
wrap timbered arms tightly around lives lived, hearts found.

I have seen some bridges, you know…I’ve seen them.
Liken to those in my dreaming eye
covered with Heaven’s hand.
safe harbor from doubt, despair, tears yet to fall.
Those long ago hallowed halls of travel.