poetry
A pilgrimage is a journey set in a story. — Paul Elie, interview for On Being (as best I can remember the quote) narrative I love to tell the story says the old hymn— not I love to tell the doctrine; we do well to read in the beginning as another
poetry
prine time the first time I saw John Prine we were both much younger he sang fish and whistle—you forgive us and we’ll forgive you—and then the one about the angel that I learned too the last time I saw him was the night before his cancer
poetry
workout I started the day by going to the gym (things I rarely write for 400, Alex), wishing the process of lessening my presence on the planet did not involve rooms with pumped up jams and rows of televisions blasting morning shows. I came prepared with headphones and the podcast
poetry
I spent the first ten days of April back in Durham, doing some book things, some cookies business, and seeing good friends in a place that feels like home to me. In the process, I haven’t kept my promises to write each day during April. Here is my defense.
poetry
window the late afternoon light is the color of gratitude wouldn’t you say as the shadows grow longer and the coming chill pulls us closer what else is there but thank you Peace, Milton
poetry
question It''s Opening Day . . . (well, the Red Sox start tomorrow) I have moved from coffee shop to brewery trying to catch the metaphor. Is it as simple as the pitcher misses the strike zone, the catcher misses the tag, and I miss my mother, who has been
poetry
I had every intention of using National Poetry Writing Month as an impetus to keep me writing regularly during April, and then I spent the day traveling yesterday and missed Day One. So, I will begin my quest on Day Two. suspended animation I'm sitting at a shared
poetry
perspective the daffodils bow their heads in the early morning rain without explanation, on this day after resurrection. I am left to find resonance in both reverence of redemption and the weight of the water. the raindrops hang like tears on the window, or tiny jewels, depending on where I
lenten journal
Because I have now lived through the death of both of my parents, I understand more of how the disciples might have felt after Jesus’s death and burial. One of the hardest things has been to mark time without them. The first morning. The first month. The first year,
lenten journal
I started a new train book on the way to work this morning: Maps of the Imagination: The Writer as Cartographer by Peter Turchi. The book, as the title suggests, uses cartography as an extended metaphor for writing. As the train worked its way to New Haven this morning, Turchi
lenten journal
My earliest recollections of Communion--or the Lord's Supper, as we most often called it in Baptist life--was the ritual beginning with the words, "On the night that Jesus was betrayed. . . ." Not on the night he was arrested, or the last night with his disciples,
lenten journal
under the alleluias I once heard a comedian say the only way to get to the jokes that mattered was to push through the easy stuff, the sophomoric double entendres, the terrible puns, and get past the low-hanging fruit of the obvious and only then can you begin to