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Fridays at the Healer’s

By Charity Gingerich Poetry

Once a week he holds me against him like a child and I inhale wood and horse and earth, sometimes  sweat (not sharp with the agony of hurry but warm,   like a tree trunk seeping sap on a sunny day); I keep  my eyes closed, as if afraid time will shift like a rocking boat beneath my feet, and that…

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In the Studio

By Saba Khan Visual Art

What I enjoy instead are the faults of the hand, the jagged edges, the brashness of jugaar (an Urdu word meaning to innovate within a very small budget).

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God of the Midwest

By Aaron Brown Poetry

God the God of the cement silo, sunset-stained,
and the conveyor
                                         running through the night.

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The Ram

By Jehanne Dubrow Poetry

I was born out of terror,
             horn-caught and tangled,

                            pulled from the brush
with a cry of thorn and leaf.

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Stories Don’t Halt at Borders

By Dua Abbas Rizvi Visual Art

Nanto never ran out of stories. She would tell us stories of prophets in the desert, how people tried to scheme against them, how they were always too clever for the tricks or were helped by God in some magnificent manner.

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A Conversation with Lorna Goodison

By Pádraig Ó Tuama Interview

Laughter is one way in which I experience God, and so I want to write about the ways in which I am sometimes lucky to experience the divine, as friend. A friend who makes you laugh out loud, and who makes you weep. I’m a weeper, and that too is a gift from God.

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My Brother Beside Me

By Catherine Ricketts Essay

I used to keep my beliefs about hell tucked latent in the hidden place. After Joe died, they began to eat at their cupboard, like moths in a sweater drawer.

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Santo Spirito

By Jacqueline Osherow Poetry

In Leonardo’s  
Annunciation, 
is there a dove?  
I certainly can’t 
find one—but  
Leonardo is famous 
for hiding things,  

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Assembly Line Prayer

By Renee Simms Fiction

that you commit some part of your mind and heart to an unshakeable belief in the logic of global capital, which means that on a smaller scale you commit some part of your mind and heart to an unshakeable belief in the necessity of placing a two-inch needle into an instrument panel over and over and over again,

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