When our fathers
approached your
holy Mountain,
brushing a blade
of grass meant death.
Author: Angela Doll
Psalm for the Fallen Women
“I have bruises too, a smattering, and I know
it doesn’t make sense”
One Handful with Tranquility
by Laura Reece Hogan The time of April ticks onward outside, on the hills, in the chaparral,under sagebrush, an awakening from the ashes and the barren ache. The swallows return,…
Still Have Anger Issues with the Past
I dreamt my old boss into being.
Twenty years invisible, & here she came,
her unimpassioned face, stone jaw,
tone flat as if mediating some dispute.
The Tilling of Dorothy Day
by Laura Reese Hogan Her swollen hands red in peeling service, dutifully broomingthe floor beneath his feet, beneath his spitting, his foul words, yellowed eyes, beneath his stench and snaking…
Descended into Hell
Skull well-bruised and numb,
near delirium
I choke and praise the Lord.
In the Neurology Wing of Johns Hopkins Outpatient Center
“The boy with his shattered skull stitched
runs his fingers over the bridge
Van Gogh’s rainbow impasto arcs…”