After Whistler’s Mother
“Take the picture of my mother, exhibited as an ‘Arrangement in Grey and Black.’ To me it is interesting as a picture of my mother; but what can or ought the public to care about the identity of the portrait?” – James McNeill Whistler The pages of the history of art open to Whistler’s Mother….
Far Away Friends
(a fable for children and others) for Ellie “A king—long years ago, When nights were long and dark And forests thick and dangers oh! So dangerous—lost his spark, Lost his remarkable spark Of joy. A meadowlark . . .” Part One: In Search of Meadowlarks Catherine had a friend. Her friend was Emma May. They…
A Midwinter Song
The chaste moon cackles over fields of white and pours its pregnant wrath upon a black crepe sky where seems the sun will never rise nor fill its run on this, the longest night. Beneath her blushing falseness tramps a lone and lonely hireling; bit with frost in callouses and cuts, near lost to winter’s…
Lancelot Andrews Preaches a Nativity Sermon, December 25, 1622
The church was chilly, though the King had come to hear the sermon; no braziers set out; chill of December. Andrewes, golden-tongued, delivered words describing the long route the Magi took, the trials they endured: In solsitio bumali—”the dead of winter”; they rode wearying miles obscured by fog and snow; high prices paid for bread; camels…
Take an Ear
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…
Montana Seeds
For Eugene Gone, I was the bristle in the brittle pines looped fractaling along the highway bends. Mine were raw quills, of goose and porcupine; mine the rock brains; mine the hands that slapped wet prints upon the breaching stones; a tremulous, confessing risk of joy; the silver in the sockets of my bones; the…
Book Release: Clara’s Bees by Catharine Savage Brosman
We are excited to announce the release of Catharine Savage Brosman’s new collection of poems, Clara’s Bees, on our literary imprint, Little Gidding Press. In this expansive collection of poems, Catharine Savage Brosman surveys life in contemporary New York, wartime France, and medieval Europe. Along with imaginative scope, these poems attend to the particulars of…
An Encounter
I’ve been away all day, and coming home— I can’t believe it—all the kids are leaping To tell me what’s transpired in my absence. They’re at the store together, five of them Propped in the shopping cart or following it, Their mother slowly leading down the aisle, To get the toilet paper, bread, a…
LATE LIGHT IN CHATTANOOGA
I was born in a shadow country Of roofless temples smudged with smoke, Where even the roadside shrines Sat jilted, their chintzy dioramas Strung with strands of christmas lights That lit the paths of small tin soldiers Shouldering their guns into darkness To hollow drums and distant music. O sing, cicada, sing… I grew up…
Milton
He moved the candle closer to the paper Whose clouded words escaped his failing sight. Blind anger rose again. He dropped the taper, Thought flickered low, and rage put out the light. Despair stood near at hand to shake its head, And bitterness reminded him that slaves Stood as unworthy masters in the stead Of…