with their ragged edges,
with their hardened skin,
never fully heal.
We sat in the dimmed living room,
lights twinkling on the tree,
listening to Christmas music,
and she said,
“My mother loved this time of year.”
Photo Credit: ESA/Hubble
A star-forming region in the Large Magellanic Cloud
This week's poem, "Riding a Koan," by Virginia Hamilton Adair, moves me for so many reasons. I love the way it sustains the extended metaphor...
What do others want?
See good intentions.
Hustling through an airport, I stopped to buy some water. At the shop’s refrigerator, a man was bent over, loading bottles into it. I reached past him and...
I think of Falah’s sister in Iraq
who lost her husband, her four children,
affectionate daughters, proud sons. I think
of her empty hands, her empty house
that is no longer a home,
and I pray.
I think there will...
In The Target is Behind the Sky (Fifty Poems of Kabir) Sunil Uniyal brings to life the poems or “utterances” of the Hindi mystic Kabir.The translations beautifully evoke Kabir’s imaginative yet down-to-earth writings and...