Out of the mouths of Holy Innocents
the wailings of our weakness,
our Herod knees bent now
the better to swallow
the words we’ve wallowed in,
the tug-and-pull of the womb
across the clinic’s lintel.
In Rama there is weeping,
in Charleston, in Bismark,
in Portland, in Trenton,
in Pittsbugh, in New Orleans,
in Santa Rosa, in the thin sac that holds us
from heaven. There is weeping
for the waste we so covetously cradle
as our rights, that we so vehemently sing
as the holy holly bough is breaking.
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE
Restoring Man at Notre Dame
It is fascinating to be an outsider on the inside of an institution going through times of…
Deliver Us from Evil
In a recent New York Times article entitled “Freedom With a Side of Guilt: How Food Delivery…
Natural Law Needs Revelation
Natural law theory teaches that God embedded a teleological moral order in the world, such that things…
