Where I live drought desecrates,Heat scorches fields, crops wither,Wasted while elsewhere floodsDevour bridges to rip asunderFriend and family. Things fallApart. The parched earth cracks,The chasms widen to swallowWhole our fractured world. Here, before us, the abyss,Yet, if you can, imagine . . . . Continue Reading »
It’s Sarah’s old-bone incredulitywrecked by the coos of borne-out prophecy. It’s Jacob learning that his son’s not dead,the brothers scrubbed of blood they long thought shed. It’s Miriam’s, Deborah’s, Hannah’s canticles,delivered from the haughty’s manacles. It’s David writhing, . . . . Continue Reading »
. . . If I make my bed in hell, behold, You are there. —Psalm 139: 8 It takes a while for you to know what nought is.You answer Thou shalt not with your unless . . .You sell your birthright for a mess of pottage. You dream of mansions, settle for a cottage,but end up with the pigs a sloppy . . . . Continue Reading »
At ninety-four years old, Eva Brann is both the oldest and longest-serving tutor at St. John’s College in Annapolis, America’s premier Great Books liberal arts institution. She is also the most widely published member of the faculty, notable at a school aimed at cultivating the life of the mind . . . . Continue Reading »