I had every intention of using National Poetry Writing Month as an impetus to keep me writing regularly during April, and then I spent the day traveling yesterday and missed Day One. So, I will begin my quest on Day Two. suspended animation I’m sitting at a shared table late on a Saturday morning in…
perspective the daffodils bow their heads in the early morning rain without explanation, on this day after resurrection. I am left to find resonance in both reverence of redemption and the weight of the water. the raindrops hang like tears on the window, or tiny jewels, depending on where I am. my coffee cup is…
under the alleluias I once heard a comedian say the only way to get to the jokes that mattered was to push through the easy stuff, the sophomoric double entendres, the terrible puns, and get past the low-hanging fruit of the obvious and only then can you begin to discover great comedy. I don’t think…
here in america we yell at each other as though anger were a pre-existing condition, and diatribe an anagram of democracy; but screaming doesn’t make it so: louder and truer are not synonyms— the same goes for rich and smart. the word becomes flesh the light shines in the darkness and the shouting cannot put…
keepsake there are some nights when the sky turns the color of friendship and fades into the crisp darkness of gratitude friends old and new around our table shared food and stories love and laughter as though there was enough for all we’ve washed the dishes saved the leftovers and turned out the lights except…
Today marks two months since my mother died. This poem found me today. symbol the old cast iron skillet has soaked up a cookbook of stories, handed down from Grandma to you and then to me. just salt—no soap— to clean it; i run my hand around the side and I feel the soft oil…
Even before I read any of the reports of election-related happenings around the country, I felt depressed, so I am choosing to limit my intake as much as I can. Still, I am troubled. I can remember, after past elections that seemed contentious, but now pale by comparison, hearing people say we were blessed to…
I come, in conclusion, to the difference between “projecting” the future and making a promise. The “projecting” of “futurologists” uses the future as the safest possible context for whatever is desired; it binds one only to selfish interest. But making a promise binds one to someone else’s future. (Wendell Berry, Standing by Words, 62) promise…
I picked up a new traveling companion for this Lenten journey: Wendell Berry’s Standing by Words: Essays. The title essay begins, Two epidemic illnesses of our time—upon both of which virtual industries of cures have been founded—are the disintegration of communities and the disintegration of persons. (14) I added his word to my growing list:…
Tonight, as I went on a relatively futile search for words of my own to share, I found some words by others I am going to borrow tonight. These are not easy poems because they name grief quite well, and in that have offered me comfort. All three of them were new to me. The…