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Domestic

By Dana Littlepage Smith Poetry

The knife was held like night— quiet in her husband’s hand. In silence, the umbilicus was snipped. The moon went on shining. A mare leapt astride a stallion. Jerusalem was drowning. A match dropped. Hay fired. Kings slunk away. The world hung heavy on her breast. —Love’s foundling. A curtain twitched: unholy neighbors. A nosey…

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Pray That the Creek Don’t Dry Up

By Charles Wright Poetry

It’s funny how light sifts down, out of itself, ______________________________________funny How thin, erasable darkness seeps up and expands, Gauzing the underworld, ______________________everything suddenly stopped, No wind, no movement, no words, The wheel stilled, the crack to the radiant world closing in on itself. One way of putting it. ____________________Another would be it’s twilight time, Last…

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Grief Daybook: A Love Supreme

By Carol Ann Davis Poetry

Today it’s like water in the ear, a slow bleed in the brain, thinking of your bones and the marrow inside them. Last night, half-awake, I leaned into the siren as it passed and thought of Coltrane writing his liner-note prayer —it all has to do with it— and listened for the drumbeat of another…

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Lacrimae Rerum

By Christopher Howell Poetry

And they rent their garments and painted their foreheads with ash in supplication and lament. The bright stone of the moon bent down, still upon the water where they stood to the knees in cold reflected stars. Breeze in branches made the sound of women wiping their eyes with paper or breathing in an icy…

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Bedtime Reading for the Unborn Child

By Khaled Mattawa Poetry

Long after the sun falls into the sea and twilight slips off the horizon like a velvet sheet and the air gets soaked in blackness, long after clouds hover above like boulders and stars crawl up and fill the sky, long after bodies tangle dance and falter and fatigue blows in and bends them and…

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Night Vision: Jacques Maritain and the Meaning of Art

By Katie Kresser Essay

THE PEOPLE WE CALL artists have always gone into a dark space. A space turned inside-out. Not a somber space, where darkness is sadness, but a mysterious one—like the nighttime darkness of the imaginative child who marches golden caravans across his bedroom ceiling. The poet Homer, archetype of artists, was famously blind—yet out from his…

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Acquainted with the Night: The Art of Jerzy Nowosielski

By Artur Rosman Essay

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet When far away an interrupted cry Came over houses from another street, But not to call me back or say good-bye; And further still at an unearthly height, A luminary clock against the sky Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right. I have been…

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Night and Chaos

By Mario Chard Poetry

Once in the desert he said he saw the shape of a man, a body, the line around it neither light nor dark standing speechless in his path. That he could feel his shirt draw back against his body his mind was already giving back to fear until the figure turned to yield and let…

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