Arts+Culture

Arts+Culture

We Are the Eighth Day, © Melanie Weidner

Poetry

Another Lent

So here we go again.
The grit of darkened seasons past
between the eyes, across the brow.
The purple cloths of grief,
tall cloistered candles, numbered days.
Six more weeks of wintered trudging
through a wilderness bereft of alleluias.
All this to show that everything we know—
and are—is dust
and will return in just the way it came
and always has come.
Yet, here and there, bent brave above the snow
the clustered Lenten rose bleeds color
from pale sunlight,
gently points itself toward a cross,
an emptied cave,
that bright unending summer
glimpsed in childhood,
and forever after longed for
past the terminus of measured time.
Poetry

Easter's ABCs

Let A stand for amaryllis,
B for betray,
C for cast,
and so on until W
straddles
want and wake—
the advance men for rapture.

Substitute lilies for amaryllis,
a kiss for betrayal.
Gather a Roman cast,
straddling
Jewish law.
Wake
to rapture.

Film

The Savages

There are few tasks more daunting for a filmmaker than straddling the line between comedy and tragedy. It is hard enough to establish a tone for a movie without the added challenge of making the funny stuff and the melancholy moments work together like the ingredients of a magic potion.
Poetry

Sixty

More than half taken up
on the reel, the tape
plays Mozart’s Requiem.
By my front walk
three crocuses, blue
with saffron suns, thrive—
an early spring’s pledge.

At the same time
snow is falling.
It flies aloft
as if some dandelion clock
has blown apart ahead of season;
not a winter’s spite.

The reel takes up the slack
of the Lacrymosa
and I take on the year

its space
its flow
its breath.

Benedictus.







Poetry

Ash Wednesday

no bicep, no bone, no lung
and no cheek, so lean, not
even breath not even earth—
humus, placental—nothing
but dust nothing but ash
burnt up consumed—
not the predominant water
no song and no sound
no taste and no touch no hunger
not even age-lame or deaf
not even tomb-bound and rotting
no pain yes but also no feeling
no hope and no hunger
the end of I and I think
not I hurt or even am nothing
no cross on the forehead
no forehead no
thing at all.