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Carol of the Christ Child’s Garden

By David Brendan Hopes Poetry

Come into my garden, the Christ Child said to me. Here is the lily for what’s past, the rose for what’s to be. Here is the emerald mound where love lies till the day all sleeping souls must rise and do what the hardest scriptures say. Here is the sapphire pool from which the laughing…

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Carol of the Infuriated Hour

By David Brendan Hopes Poetry

The stab to the heart that is such music, the light beyond brightness that is such sight— For the sake of this season in the stories I will cease my wars with God tonight. I will choose, with open eye, the talking beasts, the white-in-the-snowdrift Christmas rose, the legends of wandering a bitter way, high…

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Gravity and Grace: The Art of Richard Serra

By James Romaine Essay

RICHARD SERRA’S Torqued Ellipse I and Torqued Ellipse II (1996-97), now permanently installed at Dia:Beacon, remind me of Simone Weil’s axiom that “All the natural movements of the soul are controlled by the laws analogous to those of physical gravity. Grace is the only exception” [see Plate 1]. These lines, from the opening of her book…

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By Tara Bray Poetry

Like a dark miracle, they sleep, two am at a truck stop outside Indianapolis; my husband of three cities, three years— flycatcher, scrub jay, kingfisher; our baby daughter, little chickadee, pale wrinkle, my inkling. A motherless girl who now mothers, I am loved twice, two orchids, two glimpses of the afterlife, two clear-wing butterflies, two…

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Grace Descending

By Daniel Abdal-Hayy Moore Poetry

The sound of water over rocks is grace descending The sound of animals in the distance is the future coming toward us The sound of light sliding over light is God’s name being whispered to us The sound of a door swinging open on its hinges is our entrance into his garden There all sounds…

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By Holly Welker Poetry

You lie like a comma in the sentence of your bed. Your legs stack like planks; each hand steadies the opposite shoulder. It’s a position you assume when assailed by dreams or sleepless longing, or on nights you feel you’re breathing broken glass. Tonight you buckle into yourself and mourn two vocabularies, a moldy discourse…

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Peace Like a River

By Robert A. Fink Poetry

I ran down the emergency-room ramp, holding Jon in one arm, pressing the cut with the other, and passed through the sliding glass doors into a narrow corridor lined with Saturday-night gurneys and men and one woman, all slumped or lying down on the black and white checkered tile, all clutching what seemed concussions and…

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Common Prayer

By Geri Doran Poetry

Stirring among the pines. The sapling’s leaves like oval wings tremble. Between the whoofs of startled deer, echoing, an echoing clear creed of some unvanquished mystery— night-rising crows humbling their caws below the oaky whoo of the boreal owl. Below that, what? Threads of wood, a bed of pine, the needles strewn in love beside…

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Another Idiot Psalm

By Scott Cairns Poetry

A psalm of Isaak raised in unaccustomed stillness With unclean lips, at least, and yea with unclean hands, encumbered heart, congested, lo these many years, with no small measure of regret and sin’s particulate debris, by these and countless other dear impediments, I stoop to find my knees. And on occasion You— whose dimly figured…

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The Age of Loss

By Richard Spilman Poetry

You have come to a time when everything is loss— your parents dead, your friends dying or gone south. You have come to a time when you have money and nothing you care to do with it, though you take cruises, spoil the grandkids, redecorate the house, which, schooled in irony, echoes as if abandoned.…

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