from burnéd stump awake the seedRead More
o God beyond time, help me to wait well.Read More
oh papa, the wolves gather round us
oh papa, the soldiers slay fast
oh papa, the prophets confound us
oh papa, how long will this last?
o morning star, rise in our darknessRead More
o wisdom come —
oh papa, the fields are plowed under oh papa, the seeds are all salt oh papa, the tree’s burned to cinders oh papa, we know it’s our fault oh papa, the babies are crying oh papa, the streets run with blood oh papa, look, everyone’s dying oh papa, how can this bring good? oh papa,…Read More
the sun beats harshly on crenulated battlements
as a string of horsemen and camels approaches the gate.
the stony hills are shrouded in darkness, the shapes of shrub
and sheep and shepherd almost indistinguishable in the gloom.
a scrubby hillside, a tiny house, and a weary traveler
picking her way up the dusty path to the threshhold.
i won’t let go till you give me this poem!
but why am i writing it?