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Posts by Meaghan Ritchey

Mentored by the Dead

By Jamie QuatroMarch 26, 2020

In the midst of a viral pandemic that has shuttered schools and universities, why go on writing essays about the syntactical anomalies of Emily Dickinson’s poetry, or learning when and how to use the French subjunctive tense, when humanity itself is threatened by a massive, though microscopic, enemy?

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Artist Spotlight: Katie Eleanor

By Maryanne SaundersJanuary 8, 2020

I am not a particularly religious person, but I believe in sanctuary. My brain and my imagination are my sanctuary, and that is something I associate with these solemn spaces. It’s all creating a sanctuary for the viewer to inhabit, a sense of stillness and introspection.

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Sing out the Old; Sing in the New

By Peggy RosenthalDecember 29, 2019

New Year met me somewhat sad:
Old Year leaves me tired,
Stripped of favourite things I had
Baulked of much desired:
Yet farther on my road to-day
God willing, farther on my way.

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And Yet

By Vanessa WaltzDecember 19, 2019

There was the DC of my dreams. More specifically, there was the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum. It opened before my ninth year; I was anxious, even impatient, to tour it and view photographs of the event that had captured my imagination ever since my mother had pressed a certain young girl’s diary into my hands.

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Jagged Prayers

By Shemaiah GonzalezDecember 17, 2019

“You once said that if you didn’t write, you’d wash your hands all day. This is true for me too, though it manifests itself in other ways: list-making, organizing, cleaning until I see disorder in every inch of my house. Writing becomes a compulsive behavior too, a way of finding clarity, of moving through the pain into something beautiful.”

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Repetitions

By Laurie GranieriDecember 12, 2019

On praying with the grandmothers of Florence: “I suspect that they have mostly accepted their religion as something like an arranged marriage to a nice-enough guy—a situation they didn’t choose but that nonetheless offers its comforts—rather than how I tend to conduct my relationship with God: like a tanking romance with a guy who can’t understand what I’m so worked up about, again.”

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Liz Vice’s “Refugee King”

  Lyrics: Away from the manger they ran for their lives The crying boy Jesus, a son they must hide A dream came to Joseph, they fled in the night And they ran and they ran and they ran Ooh No stars in the sky but the Spirit of God Led down into Egypt from…

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