The Theology of Waiting

Genevieve Cunningham

Imagine a flawless note, particular,
Uninhibited, unwound, consummate;
Stroked from tamed wood
To breathe, expand, fill a room,
Press against wall and ceiling,
Seep into the stairwell, seeking
An attic window, escaping;
And pursuit is futile. Listen:
All is silent, vast in the new soundlessness,
Heart racing in the recent absence
Of instrumental sound. [Read more…]

Dogwood

Sr. Mary Catherine Vukmanic, OSU

Forsythia comes first, then violet.
(Who watch for them through winter months agree)
Forsythia comes first, then violet
But till the dogwood bloom, it is not spring for me. [Read more…]

The Paschal Four

Timothy Barr

I.

When in subtle mass I weighed,
Latent boughs kicked fleshy drum.
Falling circumstances staid
The appetite for love and thumb.
Patience swaddled in the moons
Through clouds about my nebulous form;
My origin loved me in monsoons
Though I was yet naught but worm.
In sphere I was, as sphere I made
Tunnels of blood stretched heavenward,
Ropes of life were spun and frayed
Nightish bastion, quelled in cord. [Read more…]

Humility

J.B. Toner

How many times, I wonder, have I prayed
 With all my waning strength for some one grace,
 One desperate panacea to efface
The miseries that make my faint hopes fade—
How many nights have passed in my despair
 Before I found the wits and faith to see
 The providential serendipity
Whereby the Lord ignores and answers prayer?
 For, peering out from terror’s shroud voluminous,
   At last I realize that what I ask
 Is not in keeping with the soul-wyrd numinous
   Which glows within my heart behind doubt’s mask—
 But when at last I glimpse His purpose luminous,
   I bow before my long-appointed task.

[Read more…]

Operation Pedro Pan

Monica Magnan

They all carry something.
The girl seated next to him
has a holy card with Christ pointing
to a gash in His heart, redder than a mango.
His mother has given him a loaf of bread
with the imprint of a palm frond baked
into the crust like a fossil. [Read more…]

Genesseret

James Watson

Writhing fish and speckled
In their ancient tongue convene:

“The one of whom our fathers spoke has come
Again to visit us–he who hovered on the Surface
And we leaped for joy.” (Forgotten memories
Of a blind happiness, when their cold blood
Was warmed, and they felt their scales tingle.) [Read more…]

Then We Shall Know Fully

Maria D. Byers

On a January night I saw
stars, roaring lanterns, thunder
in the massive silence
of an echo-holding sky
above a fragile world, half woven of
frosted roots and grasses;
and the cold field swayed, glittered vaguely,
oblivious to the universe’s
swelling scale of sounds,
never apprehending the unheard noise
surging over the mute and thousand throngs. [Read more…]

Incarnation

Kate Bluett

She grows
round, a slow trans-
figuration. Some days it
seems she has always been waiting;
sometimes the immanence bewilders her.
The hidden confounds her, its stillness terrible,
its movements swift and sudden, joy dancing
on her inmost nerves. She waits to see him at last,
hold him, take him in her hands, receive him.
Present now, he will then be visible, glorious
to behold, his voice a clarion heard by all.
She waits. One day he will be here,
warm and breathing, sweet
and strangely
small.

Kate Bluett is the wife of J.R. and the mother of Joseph. She writes, for the most part, while they are asleep. She is also a graduate of the University of Dallas, 2001 and 2006. And she lives in a city with the odd name of The Colony, Texas