Nutshells on patched linoleum,
cracks skipped over
on the long sidewalk home,
hide-and-go-seek game
we stopped counting.
Still sometimes we hunt
for that small face,
ragged sleeve above
a chapped hand.
We search beneath
decayed porches, through
yards full of dry weeds
and rusted cans.
The blown years blanket
our steps, leaving
only here and there
a dull gleam like spent
cartridges beneath
another Autumn’s leaves.
—B. R. Strahan
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE
The Politics of Judas
In this Easter season, we naturally reflect on the passion of Christ, his resurrection, and all that…
Via Crucis, 2026
The Way of the Cross—and the third, seventh, and ninth stations in particular—has been an especially appropriate…
Trump’s Civilizational Project
Secretary of State Marco Rubio spoke at the recent Munich Security Conference. Last year, Vice President JD…
