After the President's address, it was still cold, and I left with the others ten lines into the poem. Still, I thought of the woman up there, Elizabeth Something, releasing her wordslike little doves that tried to landon the backs of our shoulders.We shrugged them off, but they hoveredand flapped in that sharp sparkle,that winter air, something made,something not quite begun.
Amy Frykholm on the Youth Theological Initiative, Theresa Cho on Korean-American women in the PCUSA, David Ford on how his mind has changed.
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