Journey to the Promised Land

I stand at the edge of this wilderness Weary with the journey to get here. So long ago we left our lives in Egypt. Some days, I can still taste the bread and delicious fruits watered by the Nile. At the beginning, the journey was exciting. There was the pillaging of the Egyptians After the

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Wilderness Temptation

He came up from the Jordan. Still damp from his cleansing passage, He wandered into my rocky wastes, His footprints vanishing as wind blew over sandy ground. He seemed in no hurry to get somewhere. Soon he was covered with my dust His sweat made marks like tear tracks on his face. When He grew

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The Art of Embracing Brokenness

A fragile clay pot— Broken becomes worthless. But Gather up the scattered fragments. Mend the cracks with care and love that Trace healed wounds with golden scars. Imperfection revealed as beauty— The ordinary becomes holy. Ruth Meredith 9/7/2019 This poem reflects the Japanese aesthetic of kintsugi, which is the art of embracing damage. The word

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Brueghel: ‘Fall of Icarus’

I could, as usual, cite events and celebrations of the past year, Mardi Gras, Pentecost, St. Thomas Day, and the Bishop’s Visitation. Talk about the landscaping in the front, the “progress” of the organ, how our kids keep growing bigger and smarter. They’re all wonderful things to celebrate and to give thanks for. And we

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Perichoresis (Dance of the Trinity)

Within the pond, fish flow in fluid dance, Scaled shapes shadow its depths with fire Their liquid grace reflects the touch of water Which changes stiff fins to silken wings. The pond accepts the gesture of my open hands But it troubles the subtle harmony of fish Outstretched fingers seem like a net to fish

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Día de Muertos

autumn leaves the smallest tree still green Día de Muertos marigolds haunting my nose brushing dirt from my mother’s cheek funeral home faint reflection on her face a mother’s story everything the same but nothing remains childhood village tree and field and sky the same autumn haze sounding the hours between us dusk and dawn

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Currents

dark mountains waiting for rain tapping through rain the solo traveler shadows in the ripples my dad’s thick hands morning snow today’s news reflected on the hot toaster waiting out death throes to bury the dove somber sneezes leaving the funeral pollinated all night the wind the mountain keeping us grounded open heart holding my

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