Yellowwood, 1980

We’ve missed the colors

By a week or so.

The hills now are a latticework of trees.

Even the water is intricate

As the wind sweeps shards of light

Toward the shore.

The blue air shimmers

Where it meets the distance

Brandishing the skeletons of sleep.

This poem appears in the November 2023 issue.

When push comes to shove, for nationalist Christians, ethnicity comes first.

Hearing him admit that he might not be first in line at the pearly gates was surreal.

The church’s calling is far more exciting and urgent than endorsing political candidates.

How on earth did this odd little biblical tale get twisted into a justification for chattel slavery?

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