Not So Much an End as an Entangling
By Poetry Issue 110
And then the angel pulled, just slightly, / on one of the threads / composing the linen / the painter had tacked to his stretcher.
Read MoreScandinavian Grim
By Poetry Issue 108
O Come, O Come, Emmanuel:
Dark Good News
By Essay Issue 96
I LOVED THEM ALL, the hymns we sang in our red brick Methodist church on Christmas Eve. There was always snow, it never failed us, and the streetlamps cast lovely pools of light and shadow on the shoveled walks. We called it midnight service, though it actually began an hour earlier; we would have eaten…
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