There is a wall, and beyond it, the sea.  The heat is heavier, here.  It strikes the houses’ red roofs and the tops of the green trees.  There is quiet - a deep quiet that stills even the sound of the water, lapping against the shore at the city’s edge.  Everyone is sleeping through the … Continue reading Genesis 26:6-11

The quality of the wind changes.  It doesn’t breathe against the tent sides, but is sharp and thin.  It lifts dirt from the ground and scours their faces.  It seems to shrink the rivers, and there’s no rain.  The sun is heavy in the sky.  Jacob and Esau follow their father as he walks through … Continue reading Genesis 26:1-5

The fabric of the tent moves as if its a veil pulled across a face, in and out with the breath of wind.  She watches it, prone among red blankets.  They’re musty with her sweat, and smell like the goats that the wool was sheared from.  In the center of her body, there is pain.  … Continue reading Genesis 25

I've been asked to lead the OSU Memorial Service tonight, and to come up with some opening remarks.  While I was at Kenyon, I got in the habit of writing poems to serve as invocations and benedictions.  Here's what I've written for tonight: There can be loneliness in grief. People pass us on the street … Continue reading A Poem for the OSU Memorial Service tonight