Squeezed In
By Poetry Issue 105
Easter, I make myself space
in a pew facing a pillar
four feet wide, I’d say, gray,
mottled, plastered countenance.
Easter
By Poetry Issue 101
Can we stay awake this time? Can we keep the world from ending, not by flood or fire but by its own human hand?
Read MoreVeiled Images at Passiontide
By Poetry Issue 95
A purple kite against the wall with the wind still in it. Above the side altars with the brass candelabras and unlit candles, purple ghosts. Purple ghosts behind the votive trays in the vestibule, too. Only the sacristans collecting for burning the excess palms are left uncovered, for now. Here stood the Little Flower; here,…
Read MoreSunrise Insomnia Service
By Poetry Issue 68
Gethsemane’s sleepers, be with me If I sleep. Hypnopomps to the cock’s crow, To the olive grove’s Dawnshadows’ undergnarl. Skull-place, tricrossed, two-thieved hill, Over- Hang me if I wake. † The bed-world Is the total part, Unrememberable mnemonics Muttered through the dream (Now I lay me, Tarry here awhile— Now I lay me Down—tarry…
Read MoreEaster 2009
By Poetry Issue 67
“Who will roll away the stone?” What is “To be or not to be” compared to that question? Or Pilate’s “What is truth”? Even Jesus’s own “Whom do men say that I am”? Who will roll away the stone, the weight that looms in the way, not of resurrection— the women had no hope of…
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