It’s a dark mimesis, death

David Craig

It’s a dark mimesis, Death. Seeing, he prods
with what seems a foot, asks for the Baptist, makes
him John the less too soon, this mime of God,
trumped spade. He imitates sleep, but never wakes.
Look! An absence, he brings the Man, a band
of funny Galileans—and more of the lost
in Capernaum, little ditzes, building on sand.
Who else but God would choose such layered dross?
As our sin, like Naphtale’s, starts to fall by degrees,
we Jungian shadows of death unclench our wills
so slowly you’d think that Jesus charged a fee!
What’s death when it dies on every southern sill?
Our Death is a shade whose song is not his own.
He takes the sun’s, leaves it, singing to bone.

David Craig has published nine collections of poetry and three works of fiction. He is also working on a play and a work in fantasy. His poetry has been widely published (200+) and anthologized. He holds M.F.A. and Ph. D. degrees from Bowling Green State University and teaches Creative Writing as a Professor at the Franciscan University of Steubenville. He lives in Weirton, WV with his wife Linda and their three children, David Thomas, Jude Francis, and Bridget Jean.

itinerant intimacies

Joshua Hren

(written on the feast of st. teresa of avila,
doctor of the Church)

the flesh locked in doing
activistic pursuing happiness
in hurried happenstance
so pure so practical the frame
bold of the world in the world
wide wooing
soul flesh solidity
solidarity made maimed. [Read more…]

Horae mortis

Gabriel Olearnik

Sliced moonlight, cut like cheesecake
the half-circle of white glare: a moon of cats
the night majestic in silence
when above the terror of mouse-waters
death came with a banana. [Read more…]

Hamlet, reviewed

Gabriel Olearnik

Rzelenko Konstantin was the Prince of Denmark
his peace a parried extinction, clutching at a friend’s head and
whirling a sword stick into the line of the sea
the revolution of circles
two faces forerunning the hot foam
the bones burnished by the gentle rub of sand.
He ached. This choice between
consumptives and skulls.
Absurd. In this hissing hinterland
death by water.

Gabriel Olearnik studied medieval history at University College, London. He is currently an attorney and practices corporate law.

Betrayed by a Kiss

John Savoie

Thou lookest far into eternity,
with those bright dying eyes!
Then tell me what thou seest?
— The Scarlet Letter, Ch. xxiii.

In this room there is something
other than us, not me, not mine,
and as I look on you, resting
between breaths, passing beyond
pain, free at last of all possession,
I know it cannot be yours. [Read more…]

Dirty Little Coward

Gerald C. Matics

From the testament of Father Liam O’Neill:

Never kept a diary before. Never felt the need. I’ve always placed my trust in God and had faith he’d see me through every peril, so when I felt the need to talk, I talked to Him.

Tonight I’m writing this diary—on scrap paper tucked into my Bible—because I’m afraid God isn’t listening in my final hours. And I’m scared. [Read more…]


Fiorella de Maria

Maria almost fell out of the train when the automatic doors opened to let them all out. The WAGN train to London King’s Cross was always crammed full of commuters at that time of the morning, and she had stood for over an hour, unable to find enough space even to sit on the floor. When she boarded the already crowded train, a kindly-looking gentleman had stood up and chivalrously offered her…his suitcase to sit on. “Well, what do you ladies expect?” asked a young man in a pin-striped suit, who saw the look of disdain on her face and burst out laughing. “If a bloke refuses to give up his seat you girls get all offended. But if he offers it he might get knocked about the head with a handbag for being PA-TRI-AR-CHAL!” [Read more…]

Some Remarks on Autism and Catholicism

Michael L. Ortiz

When I was in college, I conceived a great devotion to Saint Francis of Assisi. Though raised in the Catholic faith, I became interested in Francis—oddly enough—only after being drawn away from the Church by a small Christian sect. This seeming paradox is made explicable by the fact that, like many in my generation of Catholics, I was only nominally catechized. I never fully understood that the beliefs and practices of the sect represented a significant departure from the faith handed down from Christ and the Apostles. Its members had approached me on campus with the promise that I would be transformed by their supernatural love; I was lonely, so I had joined with scarcely a second thought. [Read more…]

On the People’s Business

John C. Wright

I was passing through one of the poorer sections of the country, going toward the capital.

Travel was difficult. There was occasional rail service, and overloaded trains (their roofs overhung dangerously with half-naked children, calm-faced mothers bent beneath drooping bundles) clattered their smoky way through narrow cuts and under stunted bridges—but no buses were running. To go from one tattered train station to another, one walked or hitch-hiked. Despite the recent violence here, people with cars (Europeans, shop owners, or Party Members) nearly always stopped, and nearly always made a detour if you were in need. [Read more…]