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By Anya Krugovoy Silver Poetry

Holy Wednesday Lord, I know that the bitterness is for her own good. Through the numbness that has made her quadriplegic, she has drawn nearer to you, has been purged as with bloodroot of whatever sins still grieved you. Her pneumonia has sent her to hospice. Her descent was rapid. She sleeps her morphine dreams.…

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Ash Wednesday, Unshowered

By Anya Krugovoy Silver Poetry

My hair’s pulled back to disguise the grime, though maybe it’s well that I’m unclean, since from dust you came, to dust you will return, the priest recites, smearing my forehead. Once, twice, and I’m marked, a lintel in plague years. I’m invited to kneel and read the fifty-first Psalm, recalling how David watched Bathsheba…

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By Maurice Manning Poetry

If today you hear his voice, harden not your hearts. ___________________—Psalm 95 VI At first the thunder and rain defeat but then renew the ground and break it terribly open. Now even the dawn has heavy darkness in it, the sun, in silence seeming to refuse the sky, has heeded what was needed, to stun…

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Listening Unfolding

By Nate Klug Essay

Listening Unfolding: Notes on Ministry and Poetry 1. The carpeting in the living room is indeed wall to wall, and smells as musty as I remembered. But since my interview visit, someone has spread a tablecloth over the wing table in the living room and planted a sofa by the window, so that when I…

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Lent: Deformed Pussy Willow

By Anya Silver Poetry

————–Not the branches we cut each ————–windy March to hang with eggs ————–dyed red. Not those ————–we bless with palms ————–& smoke. These arced ————–spines & split limbs bud ————–through straining bark. Backs ————–humped & bent, bound. Does ————–God suffer these husked ————–velvet knobs? Stunted, ————–a wreath of tumors. ————–Yes, he does. Gather them ————–for…

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