Valerie Bacharach: Elegy for Nathan
An addict is an actor, able to look you in the eye, smile, and lie so convincingly that you begin to question yourself.
Sydney Lea: Gradus ad Parnassum
On the other hand, the open handed
blows left scarce a mark, applied to your head or neck
Paul Christensen: The Muse of Memory
Nothing stirs but the wind that rattles rain gutters and pulls on the hinges of blistered shutters. A pair of boots has been left out on a patio of gray flagstones, the mud still clinging to their heels like forgotten promises.
David Huddle: Parable of the Same Scene Every Day for Years
Consider my mother gazing out her window
over the kitchen sink as she washes breakfast, lunch,
and dinner dishes for fifty-some years.
Sarah Gordon: Threshold
You see them there
their arms weary with
holding the guns
withholding their fire
You see them in the light
Christine Skarbek: A Personal Pantheon of Phenomenal Fellows
On this Thanksgiving, I survey all the deliciously delightful people who have touched my life and kudize them all. However, there are four in my personal pantheon that are absolute standouts. Oddly, they are all men.
Adrie Kusserow: The Adoration
All morning I groom you with tiny lovenames.
I am a cat, you are my kitten, cowlicked
with locution.
Michael Simms: Love
When I was a child, my mother told me
God has many faces
And She reveals Herself
In many ways.
Video: Mumford & Sons — “Beloved”
A boy visits his mother in the hospital and imagines a perfect day with her: And as you leave you must know you are belovedAnd as you leave I can … Continue reading
David Huddle: Even Then I knew
for Lisa Fay Coutley Our mother was often desperate because of my brothers and me—once she threw the dish drainer at Charles, slapped the back of Bill’s head so that … Continue reading
