Steven Peterson is a poet and playwright living in Chicago. His first collection, Walking Trees and Other Poems, is forthcoming from Finishing Line Press. His poems appear in Alabama Literary Review, America, The Christian Century, Dappled Things, First Things, Light, Modern Age, The North American Anglican, Poems for Ephesians, and elsewhere. A selection of his poems is included in the anthology Taking Root in the Heart (Paraclete Press, 2023).
Isaiah 11:6 I learned a new phrase yesterday. That new phrase was, “Our canine child.” The speaker then went on to say, “We rescued him when he was wild— But don’t you think he rescued us?” I nodded, smiled like I agreed, Yet deep inside was curious About where all of this will lead. I…
Your words, six hundred years old, fill our minds: my brother’s keeper and let there be light, it came to pass and seek and ye shall find, plain-put so in faith we’ll fight the good fight. What’s that you said? The boy who drives the plow should know more of the scriptures than a priest?…
When some big loudmouth makes a crack, some I hate Christians rant-attack, I want to beat him to a pulp. Which isn’t Christian. So, I gulp it down and don’t—but dream I did. It’s like when Peter sliced that ear off Malchus as the end drew near and Jesus said, No more of this! Our…
