Support First Things by turning your adblocker off or by making a  donation. Thanks!

Stream

after reading Richard Wilbur’s “Hamlen Brook”      Gliding upon cascades of sound,     the crumpled leaves that ride the rushmake visible a crystal underhush               that gives the movement ground.     With . . . . Continue Reading »

Fashioning a Walking Stick

I cut a hawthorn, stripped the outer barkwhich left five shades of red to contemplate.The first, as dark as blood, the Savior’s markleft by those thorns that ripped his brow, pressed hatedown deep and sprouted. Next, a lighter shadecontrasted, dried like dye cast on a robeof royalty, a third with . . . . Continue Reading »

Pieta

Your gown falls fold on fold, Mary, fullof shadows softening your odd proportions.You sit all wrong, holding Jesus’ body,his large frame draped across your too-wide lap.Your over-sized right hand supports his shoulder.You turn your left hand upward, open, empty.On the rocks of Golgotha you . . . . Continue Reading »

Skipping Stones

Because I’m tired of being angryat the world, I take my son to the riverwhere we pick up rocks at the water’s edge—both of us wrapped tight in Christmasgifts, chest and arms warmin this year’s already bitter weather.We step in shallowswhere cold water’s still clear, searchingthrough . . . . Continue Reading »

Epithalamium

October 20, 2007 Dear Lynn, I haven’t met you yet, and yet,  Because of your groom’s frank and free oblations  In sonnet sequences or while we drink,In permanent print or on the internet,  I write to share my cheerful approbations  For what I cannot know but may still . . . . Continue Reading »

Common Cause

When Solomon was born, birds came soaring, waddling, swimming, flapping around the air.They cheeped and honked to celebrate the day; a few chipped in to give him a layette—eiderdown, eggs, and less-appetizing things. Ad hoc solidarity to honorDavid’s gilt- and purple-bundled heir:pterosaur, . . . . Continue Reading »

Deus Absconditus (After Psalm 88)

When all is well it’s easy to confessYour goodness Lord, but when you disappearCapriciously ignoring our distressYou leave behind despair and numbing fear.Where now the gracious Giver of all good gifts?Why now the bleak, soul-searing ache of Absence?The mind has cliffs of fall with deeps and . . . . Continue Reading »

Filter Tag Articles