Arts+Culture

Arts+Culture

We Are the Eighth Day, © Melanie Weidner

Poetry

The pastor details his hunch about the cross

And conjectures, and offers
a few ways to take down
the body, the God who carries
a taste for blood. On the altar,
before him, an empty simple
cross, and a purple bouquet,
one of which, he doesn’t say,
was arranged, and one which
happened, he knows, against
serious, best judgment—


the way you might extend
a hand to an enemy, suspecting
the risk, knowing better
but offering and retracting
your bared palm over time
like a bud or a bloom opening
to a violet spring sky.

Film

Mighty heart, weak drama

In the wake of 9/11, Daniel Pearl, Southeast Asia bureau chief for the Wall Street Journal, was in Pakistan chasing down leads to a mysterious figure named Sheikh Mubarak Ali Gilani, who he believed had connections to Osama bin Laden and to the recently captured “shoe bomber,” Richard Reid.
Film

Paris forever

The city of lights would seem the perfect setting for a compilation of 18 short films, each five to eight minutes long, about love and passion.
Poetry

A very little thing

A very little thing is rolling
down the street at dawn,
some little yellow thing, a lemon,
rolling down the center
of the street from the little
grove just up the hill.

Has the cold of the morning
snapped its hold upon the tree?
Or did someone toss it, carelessly,
to see it mind its little business,
bundling down the little street?

Will it fall in the little creek
at the bottom and ride
the current to the sea?
Will it float there—a lemon buoy,
a yellow bobber, a little
sour island on the salt rim
of the little world?



Poetry

Dream in Sighisoara, Romania

in the train station at last asleep
(all gone down to grays—sky

—uniforms—the platform itself
and farmers back from the war

who won’t know their fields)—1943
—a gypsy father reaches sure to touch

his daughter’s face (where is she—
that turn in the trees)—bine bine—

bine copil—his fingers recalling
some landscape lost now to the dark—