Yes, the Devil is making quite a mess of America,
and here I am swabbing yet another wound and offering up unanswered prayers.
Our names are on fire.
Brutality has become ICE’s signature policy. Trump’s “barbed-wire” signature has dictated the ungodly means and ungodly ends of what rapidly has become the Trumpian version of the Nazi Gestapo and the Communist NKVD.
This year, Pride Month arrives at an especially dire moment for the LGBTQ+ community. Under the second Trump administration, homophobic vitriol and violence are on the rise.
Love bade me welcome, yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-ey’d Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lack’d anything.
If they vocalize their acceptance of human-made climate change, we believe they can correct widespread misperceptions, foster dialogue and encourage action in ways that secular authorities may struggle to achieve.
We wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.
Sixteen-year-old Grace prepares for her baptism in the 1950’s South. When she learns she must repent before the ritual, Grace contemplates her budding romantic feelings toward her best friend, Louise.
That light guided me
More surely than the noonday sun
To the place where He was waiting for me
Then I saw a burning light, as large and as high as a mountain, divided at its summit as if into many tongues.
We pay homage to Jimmy Carter, a profoundly decent man, who taught all of us what it means to live a life of grace, dignity, justice, and service.
the light hasn’t always been easy to find—
haloed fires of childhood, my walk
on coals to the marriage pyre, parents
passed to flame and ash. All have sparked
the change ahead, all have lit the way.
Into the ripening
Of earth’s great gifts
The mists of autumn
Begin to be woven.
IT WAS THE LATE 1930s IN GERMANY. Adolf Hitler had ascended to the chancellorship of the Third Reich in 1933.
We’re broken buttons, we’re blown dust.
There’s not one tear left in all of us.
I know, for I am François Villon, murderer