Nothing and Everything
mm Nothing is what it seems anymore. The world is slipperier these days. More unstable. Less solid. Predictions feel pointless. Plans...
Witness
by Marci Madary My desk faces the back of our third-floor condo where I frequently gaze over my computer screen into the branches of all...
Gift of Darkness
What if darkness isn’t something to fear, but a requirement? What if relaxing into the long night is the secret? I have sat alone in...
A Widow Poem
Is a widow ever not a widow anymore? Is a mother ever not a mother? Even if, God forbid, all her children die? In the sensation of the...
Juxtapose
Red, newborn fists hold together crumpled buds at the ends of patient tree limbs. Magically, they will relax open into smooth, emerald...
Twelve Years
I heard David Whyte read his poems seven years ago and again recently. Now, as then, he spoke of his dear friend and fellow poet, John...
My Prayer before the Cross
Uncovered and cold, worn thin, about to corrode, I stumble through life’s gray days. Kneeling in desperation, frantic for a breath of...
Words of Love
Words of love ground us in who we have always been; remind us of who we can yet become. Words of love lift our chins when our heads hang...
M.I.A.
In order to repair my wounded finger, they had to have my arm. When I woke, I didn’t initially notice that my arm was missing. It looked...
Wounded
A simple cut on the hand complicates. Damaged nerves leave a trail of electric tingles and numb patches that will never come back to...
