caught by surprisewe say — like a fly ballor a base runner —caught, perhapslike a falling heirloom –in the nick of time but not tonight –I was . . . taken by surpriselike a hostage ora dog from the shelter —out of my routineand off to the theaterby the dancer I know best then we…
When we came out of the restaurant, the air was raw – even people who know what real winter is would have shared my weather report. The wind was biting and we all braced ourselves as we walked to the car. We went out on a winter’s night because Reuben, my father-in-law, turned eighty today….
The first Sunday of the month means we celebrate Communion at our church, as in many Protestant congregations. Of all the things we do together in worship, Communion lands at the top of the list for me: we remember the story that binds us together in word and in action, we feed one another, and…
the farmers’ market is an act of faith,the sky starting to smell like snow . . .we are all dressed like vegetables are the last things on our minds, yetwe are as determined as the kale to make the most of this descending season. one friend finds me in the sweet potatoesand we swap stories…
Years ago, at a youth camp with my dear friend, John, I watched as he led his group in a visible expression of their connections with one another. One person started with a ball of string and tossed it to another while holding on to the end. Then she told the other what the connection…
they catch me coming and goingmy eyes itch my sinuses clog like an old drainwhether the treesare buddingor the leavesare taking theirparting shoton their wayto deathhow can something as simple ascoming and goingbudding and fallingcause so muchpain and discomfortin the midst ofbeauty and color? I think I’m stilltalking about leaves. Peace,Milton
At church last Sunday we lit the first candle for hope. At school this week, we are preparing to send out midterm progress reports. At my school, the reports have both a grade and a narrative. Most all of my students struggle in one way or another; some more than others. One boy is new…
It is difficultto get the news from poemsyet people die miserably every day……for lackof what is found there— William Carlos Williams Today I hit a wall I didn’t see coming. I ran into people who couldn’t see the metaphor sitting right in front of us. They weren’t stupid or belligerent or intractable; they just didn’t…
Madeleine L’Engle would have been ninety-two today. I think of her every Advent (and a number of other days as well) because she is the one who taught me about the Liturgical Year – through her writing, that is. I never got to meet her, though I had a couple of near misses. If you…
The night is far spent . . . Yes, there’s another half to that sentence, but it’s too early to write it down. We still have weeks of days growing shorter, of darkening afternoons, of lying down to sleep in the middle of all that is not yet. While the new year we mark with…