In the Studio
By Visual Art Issue 113
I think now is an interesting time, when the dialogue between religion and science can advance our understanding of the world like a mirror.
Read MoreThe Priestesses Are Singing Slow
By Poetry Issue 112
Even a book is simple in this folded
World. Though my throne is hidden, the horn-shaped moon
Even from the Shore, Even upon Plains
By Poetry Issue 105
We step over the barbed wire into the pasture,
overtaken by another giddiness.
Making Literature in the Anthropocene
By Essay Issue 103
I don’t exist independently of the world around me, that all the boundary lines I like to think keep me separate from others are in some sense imagined and temporally bound. I can’t exist without others. And I may not be the hero of my story.
Read MoreThe Cartographer of Disaster
By Poetry Issue 54
And he sent forth a raven and it went back and forth, to and fro, until the waters were dried up from off the earth. —Genesis 8:7 To traverse open water searching for signs of life, a seabird is more suited than a land bird, which needs the trustworthy stubble of wheat fields and faithful…
Read MoreThe Earth
By Poetry Issue 65
Matter, mother, Maria Names that come from the beginning With tractor or dragged plow or pick, shovel, spade, hoe, black, reddish, parched, mud-caked, the earth is hard to break. Men labor over it as over a woman virgin even after giving birth, laboring as on a sea whose waves close above him—foam, blossom—as men work…
Read MoreBefore Entering
By Poetry Issue 67
—five—six—seven—eight, and one— The dancers drum onstage from the wings where they were before the downbeat, that prehistoric moment, bandaged and flinching, calloused, split, grinning—the tick-swish of soles on bare wood; their presence shifts how light leaps off the watch of the ex-nun’s date. Such sound bodies. Their backs, extraordinary overlaps of muscle bound to…
Read MoreThe Perfectly Transparent Splinter
By Poetry Issue 77
Orphan or heir-apparent, did it plummet from heaven or work its way up through the fissures of the earth? Was it chipped from a dollhouse window or a diamond fjord? If the deepest bass virtuoso intones the nethermost D, will this sliver fly off to reunite with its source, setting off a flood of healing…
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