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Birth/Rebirth

By Roxane Beth Johnson Poetry

Living in that wet belly was a long flight through driving rain, destination this thin river of a life made from petal, paper and some such flimsy stuff. Soul doesn’t need much to keep herself clean and combed, even if the body winds up a hobo or murderer, she knows how to make of herself…

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Disciple’s Song

By Roxane Beth Johnson Poetry

Carpenter means Jesus—his hands to splinters, a bench to sand and rub smooth corners from the tree’s needle skin to build a boat. I want to follow Christ, but where? To a threshold—a place to marry, a pulpit where the preacher sweats, a precipice, the last land seen as others wave, that boat sails out,…

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