The Edge of the Sea

Cristina Montes

The scent from the bay
carries something like memories
from the edge of the sea
where the sun goes
at the end of the day.

I inhale the breeze
As I watch the sun retreat
into the edge of the sea,

and I wonder what’s there,
and why the scents
from the edge of the sea
seem to carry memories,

and whether the ships
moored along the harbor
ever get there.

The Vigil

Anne Babson

Could I report you stood sentry at dawn,
waiting for the cemetery sun to take
grief and reopen it with morning
glories on vines around you? This bony

Rabbi who had awakened you was sleeping
forever. His mother had devoured her lip
while you dressed His wounds so hurriedly,
absurdly—He could not even feel the [Read more…]

An Answer

J.B. Toner

Well, answer me, for God’s love, Christ, speak up—
    Explain Your perfect Paradise to me,
    Where Clare and Francis sup (quite possibly)
With those who poison your once-sacred cup:
With rapists, killers, child-molesting priests,
    Where Stalin (maybe, through Your holy grace)
    Meets tortured gulag inmates face to face
And sings hosannahs at the endless feast!
  Yes, You forgive us, Lord, I know that part—
    But we’re just human, Jesus, You forget,
      So how can we forgive what we have done?
  — Oh, wait. . .  Your human mother’s human heart
    Was pierced by me, and each of us, and yet
      She loves me still, the killer of her Son.

Mingled with Silver

Robert J. O’Brien, III

The red of her hair is mingled with silver,
And her I’ll not share, no more than a delver
Of jewels in ground will talk in the air
Of the treasure he’s found, when others are there.
[Read more…]

Languedoc

Gabriel Olearnik

Erat quippe in ipsa civitate Parisius adolescentula quedam nomine Heloysa, neptis canonici cuiusdam qui Fulbertus.

Why do I seek the living among the dead
she is not here
she is

In Paris I was aquiline
my face eagle, noble, trimmed
in that place of rolled scrolls
I left the iron mittens of fine lineage
sold my birthright and bought books. [Read more…]

San Diego Poem: Palm Sunday

Joseph O’Brien

For Deirdre Lickona

Tonight, the bluish TV screen warps into wine’s darkness–
Each hollowed head, each explosion, each kiss or gun
Stretches its restless bandwidth as through a glass vessel.

I lie. Nothing is going on outside. A dog barks
That same nothing in the moon’s language, although archeology
Has long since laid him to rest: in Pharaohs’ tombs, [Read more…]

Prayer

John A. Di Camillo

Peace.
Sacred silence settles on the soul.
The heart’s thin veil is gently lifted.
Her eyes, in looking out, see in.
Distortion, distraction, delusion:
Cut down by serenity’s blade,
Crimson clarity.

Life courses swiftly, silent and steady,
Unseen but softly felt,
Until now, exposed, shines bright and crimson, crimson.

[Read more…]

Rush Hour

Jeb O’Brian

As another day unwinds
the tic-toc-tics of traffic
lights pace bright-eyed
vehicles through an intersection
so they won’t collide.
The pavement is still wet, but the sun
is coming out and this upbeat mood may stick. [Read more…]

Echo Lake

Timothy Ferris

Between two mountains of hollow height,
By rope swings, cliffs, and lofty trees,
We played in spring’s obliging breeze
In the water, Echo Lake. [Read more…]