Writing on HOPE: The Psalmist’s Prayer – by Mary F. Burns
The Psalms have always been a source of wisdom, comfort, depth and wonder for me personally, and for countless millions who have read, recited, heard and studied them through millennia of history. They timelessly...
Living in the Almost – by Michael T. Young
Hope is one half of the divided world. The other is apprehension. We are, in fact, haunted by the future as much as the past because we live in a distraction of expectation. Tantalus...
Faith – Michael Lyle
Faith
We all doubt. There are even times when we doubt it all. Everything. Other times, we doubt certain aspects, this understanding or that assumption. It matters little whether these aspects are orthodox doctrine or...
Faith is like a Shimmering Veil – by Jane Beal
Faith is like a shimmering veil. You can’t see through it. It’s like a cold shower. It wakes you up early and makes you shout, “O God!” Faith is like running on the sand...
a mediocre white man — by Maryah Converse
My friend says, “I’ve been practicing not giving way, claiming my space,” bumping shoulders with men in suits who stride down the middle of the sidewalk, secure in the respect due their masculinity, and...
HaTikvah – by Aviva Derenowski
The Israeli national hymn is called “Hatikvah” which translates as “The Hope.” It expresses the hope of the Jewish people to settle in Israel, and make it their home, after an exile of two...
It Was 1975 – by Kyle Laws
It Was 1975
I was supposed to look up the year of the abortion for Linda Lazzarini’s art installation—For Every She, There Is a He—and give his first name. A month later, I apologized...
Stalking Anacrusis, Staying Upbeat – by Laurie Klein
“Ana-what-sis,” you ask?
Also translated “upbeat,” anacrusis signifies a pickup or lead-in: the notes and/or words preceding a song’s downbeat, like the “A” in “Amazing Grace,” or the initial, unstressed syllable(s) before a poem’s meter...
An Imperfect Body – by Thelma Zirkelbach
My body is scarred. I was nineteen when my dress caught fire from a gas heater. My brain said, "Don't run," but some primal instinct cried, "Run!" As I raced from my room, flames...
A Little Kiss – by Sandell Morse
The year was 1956. I was seventeen, a recent high school graduate, a dancer, a Rockette, my body my instrument, fiddle and bow, fingers on piano keys. Wolf whistles followed me as I walked...