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God/Religion/Spiritualityexpand_moreThe knife in my mother’s hand flakes into penny-stained rust.
I have a maple in the yard and from time to time all is distant.
Salve, salve, Regina. As the song ends, he folds into the fabric seat.
Most people come to Africa because they are drawn to its misery.
The dead men don’t look like themselves or anybody else.
Late March 2002. “Mud time”—so called in Mad River Junction, Ohio.
I watched to see how the others lived, not knowing I was the Other.
My wife had time to form a thought: I have killed my daughter.
On a scale of 1 to 10, the pain dissolves like a Eucharist wafer.
I once heard in a sermon, “Choose the important over the urgent.”
It’s best for my heart to have hours and hours each day to write.
It suddenly seemed to her that the world was filled with little miracles. There were moments when love overcame her despair.
I looked into their eyes and loved them, and wished to God I was dead.
My mother was dead. Almost a month she was dead, killed by me.
A grin of bitterness swept thereby like an ominous bird a-wing.
If he was going to pick me up, the least he could do was look at me.
He had seduced them with his sincerity for truth-seeking.
It’s been months, and the fields are good for nothing but night talks.
Standing there in our small shadows, we discuss the ways of the dead.
When an old man marries a young piece of flesh, she is the ruler.
This is all there is. Nothing else. No heaven and no hell, okay?
There’s no way to escape a storm at sea; it hits you, and you can’t hit back.
Einstein postulated that space and time sit neatly on the same fabric
Goretti was a victim perfect for her time, an icon of Catholic sexual politics.
Fearing for them, I clustered them together, then cut them off.
It is a city of sea, sun, boulevards, strolling beauties, life-altering food.
Logic is such an elegant weapon; and religion, such an easy target.
Having a sister or a friend is like sitting at night in a lighted house.
our hands are full of those women tricked or transformed.
Children, this is what a bad dream looks like, our teacher said.
