The Sacred Heart of St. Joseph

Jonathan McDonald

1. Canticum
As a youth, St. Joseph is foretold in a dream of his marriage to the Theotokos.

I dreamed a dream one week ago,
That the moon, the sun, the stars, would bow to me,
Like a wife to the will of her lord,
Like a son to his father,
Like a slave to his master. [Read more...]

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The Transfiguration of Apulia

Matthew Alderman

… Who delights to scatter such masterpieces

over the place where we spend our brief time of exile.

—St. Therese of Lisieux, The Story of a Soul

So I looked up from The Story of a Soul and
Put Therese and the Child Jesus to sleep.
And felt the quiet wash over my brain.

Everyone on the bus was drowsing in their naps,
But me.

Light danced on the leaves caught on the
Movie screen of the bus windshield. [Read more...]

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Gabriel Olearnik

Where are you?
My child my child my daughter
Ade with the cat’s eyes
Where are you?
You were walking amid the marrow-grass and asphodel
When the fronds came between you and the tribe
Now the sun sets
and the red roars begin [Read more...]

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To Ithaca

Gabriel Olearnik

It is the Silver City. It cannot be visited.
Season of the Mists

It is the Silver City. But it is not made of silver
silver would have frozen to grey ash
silver would have burned to grey ash
silver is too febrile an element
to bear the fever of feral stars
and we would never have made harbor. [Read more...]

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Mirror Sonnet: How to Rise From the Dead

Annabelle Moseley

“Thus says the Lord God to these bones: See! I will bring spirit into you, that you may come to life. I will put sinews upon you, make flesh grow over you, cover you with skin, and put spirit in you so that you may come to life and know that I am the Lord. I prophesied as I had been told, and even as I was prophesying I heard a noise; it was a rattling as the bones came together, bone joining bone.” (EK 37: 5-7)

And like a funeral in New Orleans,
where jazz sounds are synonymous with death
or like the painted skulls among the scenes
of Mexico’s Day of the Dead—each breath
Ezekial took as he prophesied
resounded over those dry bones and shook
them with God’s heady music. Homicide [Read more...]

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The Same

Leah Acosta
It is the same.
The twisted strands . . . 
	of barbed wire, flesh now torn
	of plaited curls, freshly shorn
	of woven briars, crown of thorn.
The bruised reed . . . 
	freely blowing, sown in the distant sod
	trampled underfoot, by pris'ners heavy trod
	plucked, unbroken in the Son of God. [Read more...]

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 I. The Cornucopia

Emerging cold and desperate, his whiting breath
Trails behind him like the old ship’s own signature
Disgorged in blunt belchings of smoke from its belly
Through a single squat stack piping up the trying pots.
The wit-starved whaler tells his hunger-angry crew:
Sing a tune from groggy memory; desires supply the words.
There’s the sea and he scans it like a line of poetry [Read more...]

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