2004—If All of Rochester Read the Same Book…

Poets Respond to Peace Like a River

As part of the “If All of Rochester Read the Same Book…” project and in celebration of National Poetry Month in April, Writers & Books has published poetry from local readers created in response to Leif Enger’s novel Peace Like a River. Included are works by writers, readers, community members and students participating in this community reading program.

Tasting Sweetness

Melting white butter into Hershey squares,
stirring one cup sugar, one tsp. vanilla,
boiling til the fudge syrup strings off the spoon
and a soft ball forms in cold water.

Her six-year-old eyes melt like the chocolate
before this ritual. Then with sister by, she
practices each step
like an acolyte in training.
Her prize—to lick the wooden spoon,
scrape the pot
while the candy sets,
taste the sweetness of fresh fudge and family,

to feast her eyes on Mom and Dad
around the Parcheesi board,
while sister sets out milk, and
they all clap for their daughter
in the doorway with her treat.

No one counts the unpaid bills,
or hears Dad’s cigarette cough.
So long as the furnace throbs through the night,
some sweetness lingers.

—Louise Bennett

Asthma

The devilish little man steals the boy’s breath,
punches him in the stomach,
stuffs the leather skin bag
with his air and runs away
leaving him almost lifeless.

No sun, no bright shadows.
Grass smells of decay,
boulders lie strewn
like gravestones around a battlefield.
The boy waits.

No steamy vapors,
no medicine, no chest beating
by his father to loosen the thick mucous,
the boy waits alone.

The devilish little man peers in his face,
wags a long finger. Then in the doorway,
his father looms banishing the monster.
Like a priest he lays hands on.

The air sacs open, a shining light streams above,
waters sing out loud,
and his lungs, like the torn saddle mount, mend.
The boy runs to find his brothers.

- - - -

But where is the father of the city girl
born cocaine-addicted with lungs
like tiny rotting sponges?
Who leaves the smoky cigarette stubs,
the dust and roach legs unswept around the toddler’s Barbies?
Who drinks the beer,
while cold wind slides under the loose window sill?

Who buys the asthma inhaler
for the city girl still alone?

—Louise Bennett

Note: some of the images in this poem are taken from pp. 237 and 300-304

Louise Bennett is a family physician at a neighborhood health center in Rochester, NY and has had work published in The Rockford Review and accepted in the Hazmat Review.

I Meant to Do It

Tommy had just stood slack-jawed
as he watched his friend, Israel
stand in the doorway, bat in hand,
had just startled at the sonic boom,
had just sniffed the acrid fire that
spouted from the gleaming barrel,
had just gawked at the ragged hole
in Israel’s torso that threw him—
a rag doll—clear across the hall.

Tommy crumbled and vacated his insides,
heaved with sobs, splashed the floor
with his sorry tears and ignorant drool.
He was a bawling, pathetic sack of shit.

Tommy shat and pissed himself
as he quivered on all fours
in the hallway just before the
nuclear blast I released at the base
of his skull. That ended everything.

—Ed Scutt

Ed Scutt used to encourage students to respond to literature through poetry and now attempts to do that himself.

Jeremiah’s Miracles

use him. After the first
cure, after that first salvation,
they had their man. They knew
that there’d be always one
such as him there to show
the rest what could be made
of us. There’s nothing that
our desire won’t stoop to do.

—Jerry Schwartz

Redemption Draw

We draw our cowboy & vigilante
obsessions into myths, myths brimming
with outlaws & Sunny Sundowns,
less than a way to join us to a real
we can’t speak otherwise may be
to confess a real that isn’t there
to be spoken, that isn’t there. Draw!

—Jerry Schwartz

Jerry Schwartz is the author of “Only Others Are,” published by LEGIBLE Books.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peace like a river.
Faith flows through it.
Love of a father,
love for a brother.
Faith of a son,
a daughter, a family.
Faith in friends,
trust in strangers,
to become friends,
confidants, lovers,
mothers.

In the end, I believe.
Peace requires faith.

—Christine D. Norris

As the mother of two boys (but no Swede), Christine D. Norris was moved by the faith and grace of this book.

Jeremiah

The magic man of the family
Bringing miracles into their lives
To protect them and embrace them
As a shiny star on a cloudy night.

The Spirit of the family
With this immaculate light
Coming from the heavens above
Is shining like a flaming fire
That glows brightly in the darkness.

The everlasting light comes
From the miracle of the
Journeys that inhale this
Motherless family of danger
Like lungs swallowing smoke.

Jeremiah, Jeremiah, great father he was.
Living forever above,
Watching over his family
As this bright, shining star
That guides and protects all.

—Jennifer M. Dick

Jennifer M. Dick is a freshman attending St. John Fisher College in Rochester, New York, originally from Bolivar, NY.

Small Miracles

Christ walked on water.
Jeremiah walked on air—
small miracles of magic?
or mere tricks to fool the eye?

Small miracles, I think,
but no shaman prophet, I.
can only see

that down here we kick up dust swirls
when we walk—splatter mud,
scatter stones—
feel hard mean ground beneath our feet,

yet each step forward moves the air,
pushes water,
and changes
cloud shapes in the sky.

—Donna M. Marbach

Donna M. Marbach is a poet, painter, and freelance teaching artist, who
believes people should live kindly and write dangerously.

My Father’s Pledge

I was born a pale puppet
Jilted at birth by swilling lungs.
Doomed to dance on airless strings
Of spasms, gasps and angel wings.

A drowning boy accepting fate
Steamy tents a way of life.
Miah’s words and mighty whacks
Saved my lungs and filled air sacs.

The day the bullet ripped my skin
I met my Father on jubilant feet.
The orchard ripe, the stream was blue
I ran so fast I almost flew.

He chose to go, a bargain made
To take my place and leave me hope.
“You’ll join me soon,” his words were strong Singing in my ears as a glorious song.

His binding vow now gives me faith
For I have seen the multitudes march. Assured Salvation by my Father’s hand
I am Reuben, the promised Land.

—Dee Hogan

Dee Hogan teaches writing, literature and diversity at St. John Fisher College.

Crossing Over

You go I’ll stay
he said
And with those simple words
He was gone forever
And so I was
saved
At last, I was healed
I felt an inner peace
Peace Like a River

—Olivia Cimino

Olivia Cimino is a junior at Eastridge High School who plays soccer and volleyball.

Sean A. King attends St. John Fisher College and hopes to become a successful marketing executive.

Redemption

Are your miracles looming?
Do I circle and not see?
Are your miracles costly?
Must you lose to give to me?
Filled with peace I’m left with laughter
Your touch again renews
You have freed me from my prison

At last
You had to choose

So much as yet unsettled
You knew the time had come
Your wisdom as my father
Your gift to me, your son

—Mary Ellen Hart

Mary Ellen Hart teaches English at Eastridge High School. She read Peace Like a River and wrote this response poem with her 11th grade English class.

My Peaceful Place As Opposed to Reuben’s

What is better than a peaceful worry free place,
Scenery so beautiful and satisfying to the human eye?
The astonishing colors of the fall leaves,
The conspicuous dark blue water so bustling,
I know that fish must be swimming richly.
The smell of fresh air encompasses me,
I watch the great resplendent mountains from a distance.
Leaning against the thin bark on the trees,
Standing on the bizarre shaped boulders below my feet.
I hear the waves crashing upon plentiful rocks,
Dry, placid wind rustling leaves around above me.
The clear blue sky is just so flawless,
It’s just right for the fall day with no clouds commenced.
This place reminds me of somewhere I’d escape to,
Escape from my worries and problems with life.
All the colors that surround me are so concordant,
This place makes me feel unstressed and gracious.
I stand here and think of many ideas,
Of what I could do in my peaceful place if I had enough time.
I could take a boat out on that fresh lake,
Float around all day feeling relaxed, not impetuous.
Water skiing would feel delicate to my feet,
Making miraculous ripples in the transparent water.
Falling in this clearness feeling so refreshed,
The eager sun and wind would dry me.
I climb one of the tremendous mountains,
The sight from the top makes me delirious.
I feel superior and proud of my accomplishment,
The colors of the fall season jump out at me still.
I nap and dream about being able to fly,
Taking myself up and down freely through the radiant sky.
Able to spread my wings to leave that mysterious mountain,
I fly down so tenderly until barely touching the lakes‚ water.
I feel exasperated,
And sit upon an awaiting tree branch.
The beaming sun warmly outshines me,
Gives me a feeling of safety and delight.
If only I could stay in my dream forever,
I awaken and breathe-in reliable air.
Knowing that sunlight will soon be fading,
I say good-bye to my phenomenal place that day.
Who knows if it will ever appear the same to me,
Seasons change, everyday is different.
So tell me what is better than my peaceful worry free place,
Where the scenery is most beautiful and satisfying to the human eye?

—Megan Pierce

Megan Pierce is a student at Eastridge High School, and is involved in music programs such as The Marching Band and the Winterguard.

Grasping

Slowly, erratic, harsh
Harder and harder to breathe
Grasp giant gulps
Unlike the ever-changing colors of the oak
Pain is constant
It rips you in half
Knocks you down
Suffocation.
Reach for what you know is there
Longing for a world of requited love and unparalleled beauty
Just once to feel fulfilled
Satisfaction holds a high price
But I am willing to pay
Exasperated.
Life has taken its toll
Too many regrets and lost opportunities
The sound of a silent heart
Save me.

—Kristine Holahan

Kristine Holahan is a student at Eastridge High School who enjoys sports and dancing.

Miracles

Existing or not? True or Misleading?
Do they just occur, or does it take believing?
Impossible some say, yet is the truth really known?
Think what you may, the option is your own.
A break in reality, imaginations run untamed,
Silly illusions of which still lay unnamed.
Starry skies set a glorious night,
Rain clouds or thunder, Which picture is “right”?
Do they provide a lasting hope, or undying faith,
To those who think it impossible for things to ameliorate?
Are they only in response to a negative result,
Or spontaneous happenings without any fault?
Is it fair to those who believe all their life,
To witness those who have not, receive astounding delight?
Impossible, could it be? There must be a way,
So many answers left mysterious, yet so many words to say.

—Haley Schantz

Your Toughened Heart, a Result of Time

The Human Heart, what pain it must endure,
For to carry a heavy heart is human, for that there is no cure
Yet somehow through the darkest days, faith in the heart provides us with light,
Helps us find our way home on the darkest of dark and stormiest nights.
When life has given us every obstacle, the burdens we feel may be far too much,
A strong heart and a prayer let us walk through the fiery tests of life, untouched
Our heart guides us, gives us strength and quenches fear,
It answers us when we look to the heavens and ask, “why are we here”
In a lifetime, we have sorrow, we have fear and we have pain,
Yet a well-worn heart and a little faith make us see that indeed, the sun shines through the rain
When you feel like you have no chance, and life has you on your knees,
Your heart and your soul team up and give you the courage that you need
Life isn’t easy, life isn’t always kind,
Yet to deal with life’s struggles, is to achieve peace of mind
You must to have a goal to shoot for, something, for which you strive,
Without humor and courage, life will eat you alive
We all need something to believe in, to hold onto, when we are scared,
Believe in your heart and know your judgment shall never be impaired
who has the drive,
When it comes right down to the end you can be sure I know I am going to survive

—Joe Centanni

Joe Centanni is a junior at Eastridge High School.

Clay Baby

A lump of clay from the bottom of a peaceful river
Breathless, Silent, Tranquil
Death lingers in the air
A lifeless body lays limp in the arms of a father
A second chance at life with just one gentle touch
A newly born infant
Entering a new world, giving his immature lungs a twirl
First breath of air, awakening a sleeping soul
Clay commencing to turn to flesh

—Jaime Kaltenbach

The Absent Heart

There’s something missing from this place
an absent heart, a longing face
Inside, I’m fading from the loss of his embrace
The withdrawal of a friend
makes me ponder
will this result in bitter end?
why must you be so far away yonder...
Hope strays into the world of night
Must we fall out of memory?
These thoughts are nothing but trite
You are the object of my worry
I can only hope that we are gazing at the same stars tonight
that you are safe and everything’s alright
counting the moments of your return
waiting to hear of all you have learned
Let these feelings allay
For you are the only light that’s guided me today
When will the shadows be gone?
Soon, a new day will dawn
Come to be, come to see
May it be that we are on the edge
These days, time is glassed
Obstacles must be surpassed
I know this sliver of pain
may soon be summoned by peace like a river and rain

—Julie Schmerbeck

Julie Schmerbeck is a junior at East Irondequoit High School and preparing for a career in the fine arts.

Rachel Wheeler is a student at Eastridge High School who plays soccer and lacrosse.

Evidence of Faith

Faith is a treasure, a gift
Given to those who accept and explore it, the ones who choose to live for it
Faith is the living spirit through a singing bird on a black morning
The promise and trust between you and God
Faith is the strength and power that brings shattered hopes and desires into the guiding light
From the heart, it has crystal vision
Seeking God in the silent nights as well as the daylight
The faithful need no account because they see God’s truth through the narrow-minded walls
People without faith, hear no imaginable explanations
Faith unheard or unseen dies, as if blocked behind sound proof walls
Faith brings happiness and encouragement to those desiring a second chance
The ones who gave up and now want to leave the dark, cold caves of loneliness
Faith feels like a warm, soft breeze on a radiant spring day
A vivid rainbow seeping through the gloomy, moist air of a rainy day
Faith is the song of belief and hope inside the soul

—Sara Ramos

Sara Ramos is a junior at Eastridge High School who enjoys creative writing.

Love

seer of miracles
feeler of their work
a mature adult
who depends on others
a boy who sticks up for his family
and is willing to do what it takes
a thought provoking person
who is constantly worried
he cares about the welfare of others
even when he can not breath himself
a smart growing man
who uses his curiosity to find answers
a boy who fears
the confusion of life’s tears
a man of many personalities
a young boy named Reuben

worker of miracles
hopeful, truthful, Godly, and independent
courageous and without regret
a smart, happy, easy going kind of man
who always does the right thing
a father
a husband
a bold and brave man
Jeremiah Land

a kind and caring person
with a soft, motherly touch
an independent person
once heart broken can still clutch
and still trust others
and can still be easy going
a great storyteller
and a fantastic cook
a hopeful woman from the country land
the beautiful Roxanna Land

very independent and mature
yet full of exploration and youth
sweet loving, and caring nature
full of hopes, and dreams, and truth
with firm ideals
she’s full of squeals
she’s a tough demanding tomboy
who’d rather be outside than in with a toy
she sticks up for her beliefs and her family
yet clings to the people she cares about when she’s not feeling manly
she is very happy and talented
smart and poetic are two things she has been granted
always doing a good deed
the young girl named Swede

four different creatures
all with different features
They’ve all lived together
through all kinds of weather
through the good and the bad
the happy and the sad
no matter how big or bad the fame
they all love each other the same.

—Margaret A. Mooney

Blessed with Peace

When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

—“It Is Well With My Soul” (hymn)

With the guidance of God, and his hand reaching down,
He has blessed us with many a gift.
One life to live, two feet to walk
His creation of earth, we see.
Three chances to learn,
Four seasons to change, and five fingers to grasp his beauty.
With billowing sorrows, we’ll wash our sins,
And peace, like a river, will attendeth our way.
Deep in our souls, we’ll have faith to maintain,
The goals of our everlasting Lord.
His miraculous works will be witnessed by few,
But certainly the most deserving.
Never a witness who hasn’t found faith,
Never a soul who hasn’t made sacrifice.
So he’ll bless us with peace,
More precious than gold,
And river-like it will flow.
If we keep our faith strong,
Yes, he’ll bless us with peace.
Peace like a river, that is.

—Lauren Elizabeth Milne

Lauren Elizabeth Milne is a junior at East-Irondequoit Eastridge Senior High
School who enjoys writing and participating with Ms. Hart’s 11th grade honors class.

SPIRIT

S - Special
P - Prayers
I - Innocently
R - Raised
I - In
T - Tranquility

—Lin Mocejunas

Lin Mocejunas is an Administrative Assistant at St. John Fisher College.

~~~~~~

This story that will tell you about the curtains through which the sun beats
God was eating a decadent dessert and the whip cream far too sweet
He chose a beyond perfect place for the cream to float on high
Like finding the final piece to a puzzle so grand, that perfect place was surely the sky.
“Let is rest up in the beautiful blue, for all of my children to see”
So God tossed up some fluffy whipped cream
To make the suns perfect sweet beams

And mommy, why does bent father tree grow so?

Oh, dear, that happened so long ago.
Father willow was the first tree tall and straight
But god had to sneeze and the sneeze couldn’t wait
A child named wind was born grew and blew
And Mister Willow there bent his torso too.

Mama why do you tell me then, to keep my back so straight?

Child you see, we only get what we take.
So straighten up son, to gather God’s great gift.
Face up to the light my sweet, your petals it will lift
Don’t you for one second believe you’re lucky just by chance
Keep your posture tall and straight, while the sun beams dance.
Let them jig and bake your shoulders, and warm you to your roots.
That is why we must stay straight, Gods sugary light brings us food.

I understand, but mom, why are shores covered in sand?
Sand it covers and blankets so many miles of land.
Why on each seaside, are there those grains tiny and small?

God simply wanted unity, that’s all.
“I know what to do this lacks a great something, my masterpiece has a need.”
You see, god had spent his time covering the canvas in colors only saccharine.
So salt and pepper he offered from his pocket, and spread the spices coast to coast
Hopefully the world can lie peaceful like this, it is what God wished for the most.
“White and Black, Salt and pepper, please you two, rest together.”

“Salty and sweet, don’t let time get a grip.
Please be unified,” he said, and into his pocket he dipped.
Out onto the earth splashed his table spices, to add something new to our world.
Now it was complete, both salty and sweet, made up the colorful swirls.

Ok mom, one last thing, why is this landscape our home?

That is one thing I don’t know, it is knowledge I don’t own.
God’s thoughtful thoughts are not to be thought of
All we know is we’re here out of love

Call it destiny, name it fate, decipher, figure, and reason.
But my son, don’t waste your time, it’s almost the end of our season.
Springtime is here but it soon will be fall, let’s bask in the sun while we can.
Let’s taste the air and dance with the wind
And enjoy this master plan.

Life’s course isn’t up to you or to me, just live life as it comes and know
I love you.

Thank you mama I will try to follow you
Thank you mama, and I love you too.

—Lauren Szpakowski

Lauren Szpakowski is a junior at Eastridge High School.

The Journey is Everything
Each day as we live our lives
There are paths that take us in directions
That are unexplained
Paths of dark shadows
And sunny days
We are faced with some unexpected journeys
Throughout our lives
Journeys that mold and shape us
For who we are portrayed as today
We are the ultimate decision maker
Of what path our journey takes us on
Whether it be successful or not
There is a time when
There is an awakening
Where we have come to the end of our journey
Where we reflect on it only to see
It was a lesson learned not a lesson taught

—Theresa Berardi

Theresa Berardi is 19 and has lived in the Town of Rush her whole life with her mom, dad, two brothers and two sisters. She is currently attending St. John Fisher College.

Craig’s Story

That semester I spent Thanksgiving Day on the kids’ ward, volunteering, steering Craig and his buddy in wheelchairs around the halls at top speed, pretending we were at the Indy 500, locked in a dead heat. I remember that afternoon, eyes flooded, walking out to my car, unable to recognize as children the ones I saw who still had hair. Three weeks to live, Craig’s nurse just told me. The tumor’s a grapefruit next to his heart; his mother’s on a cot now every night in his room, praying.

When I left for Christmas break, Craig refused my goodbye. I didn’t look back, just tried to memorize that tooth-gap grin, the way when we’d spun wheelies with that chair he’d screamed for joy, the chocolate turkeys I’d snuck in to share, the blue sky I’d taught him to visualize, breathing deep, releasing pain.

Come the New Year, outside the Stop and Shop, I ran into his nurse. She grabbed my arm. Craig’s OK. The tumor’s disappeared. They’re calling it a miracle. Then her face collapsed. His mom’s got cancer now. Both breasts. They’re giving her three weeks to live.

—Patricia Roth Schwartz

Even As We Were, Girls, Back Then

Even as we were, girls, back then
we packed six-shooters—plastic ones,
holstered in plastic, belted to our skinny
waists above those tooled red boots.

Every Tuesday (Swanson dinners served
in foil in front of the tiny screen) Zorro
rescued the heroine while we ate creamed
corn. Our father the failed lawyer preferred
of course Perry Mason. Even though for style
Della Street sure beat out Miss Kitty,
it was Sugarfoot we loved. Paladin too we
traveled toward, the sheer justice of it, so
simple and fine, although in later years
as women in silk and suede carrying women’s
weapons, saving ourselves, impossible for us
to realize: the quick draw, the skill, the one
true shot straight to the heart.

—Patricia Roth Schwartz

Patricia Roth Schwartz is a poet, fiction writer, teacher, prison volunteer, and herbalist who lives in Waterloo, NY, on her 35-acre property, Sage Thyme Haven.

Peace Like A River

Purposeful act causes Davy to
Escape. Using deadly force was
All to assuring. Was it the only approach
Could Davy have been more rational
Even though he seemed to be the hero
Loud voices whispered “Run Davy Run”
Innocence was designed to be a virtue but
Killing two men is a fugitive’s
Error. His mistake leads to
An unwanted journey. He finds help in very
Rare places. Only family can
Inhale the genuineness of his
Vilified actions. Davy’s absents makes
Emotions fly, as his family will always
Remember his heroic misfortune

—James Reile

James Reile is from Herkimer, NY and is currently a freshman at St. John Fisher College with a major in Education.

In Reflection of My Life

Born impaired to some degree
With empathy Rueben I see.
For Father Baker’s admonition
Prepared my way to youth perdition.
But love and time delayed that fate
Until, as yet, a pending date.

The meantime I recall full well,
Hearing Daddy’s voice foretell
Of warnings to his mom-less brood
We’d find the world inanely crude.
Alerting us to match each test,
A task from which there was no rest.

From threats on life I’d grown unshaken
And set my course on routes less taken.
With bias and failure ever lurking,
The mission: Dreaming! Praying! Working!
Three aces played with grand elation
The jackpot won through education.

Tight roping landscapes far and nigh,
A fat boy skating wolves, was I.
As life uneasy ranges fumed,
I held and rocked til the Red Sea loomed.
Refreshed with confidence restored
And noble sunsets as reward.

Now I in retrospect revere
Daddy’s concerns that got me here.
Love’s angels brought me through with care
Along life’s weary thorough fares
Someday may they my soul delivers
Calm and peaceful, like a river.

—James Scott

James Scott is a proud Henrietta resident who loves music, reading and occasionally writing a poetic masterpiece.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jesus is my savior

Our lives lie in His hands,

Unaccompanied we’re not, here

Rejoice, for we’re in His lands.

Nailed to the cross was He

Ebony was the crowd,

Yet still He loved and prayed for them

Oaths spilling from His mouth.

For always we will live with Him

My soul will live forever,

In heaven we’ll see light’s prism

Redemption brings us together.

Along our journey to paradise

Christ will guide us through,

Love and passion He will suffice

Every word of His comes true.

Someday we’ll all live together,

—Jessica June Johnson

Jessica Johnson attends St. John Fisher College and will be a sophomore this fall studying for a dual major of Childhood Education and Special Education.

The Airless Journey

On the run, wanting to get out of a burning fire
Running with a proud strut as if you could fly
Goodbye Innocence, Hello long troubled journey

The Fatal trail of tears
Like a goose stuck in the snow
A lifelong commitment
Just believe

Embrace the title of Fugitive
For it will be with you for eternity
The feeling of a motherless child
Did what had to be done, run with a bounce

Feels like the yellow brick road
Don’t Crash

Acted in a panic state
An exhale full of relief
No more treasure to be found

Family comes first

—Nicholas Gagliardo

Off the Page/Against the Current:
My Reading of the Yellow Highlights in a Friend’s Copy of Peace Like A River

Just because I write it doesn’t mean it really happened
I didn’t mean it
I meant to do it

I was very clean from all that rubbing
All that glistens
Is not gold.
Little clay boy
Is what I was

No miracle happens without a witness
If a tree falls in a forest
And is ground into a book
And I don’t read it as gospel…
Make of it what you will

I was allowed, after all, to keep breathing
You have to make allowances, after all, it’s
hard to quit, hard to endure

One broke off from the group—
A mother, a reader—
“Side plots paved with broken promises are
beyond our influence…

“It’s one thing to say you’re at war”
he said, and issued me an invitation,
with one thumb turning the pages;
the door whuffed open…

Muzzy with fever, the infirm wait always and know it
A firm hand on the tiller
He steered the craft upstream
with the current,
but I dragged along, my
feet in the air like Wile E. Coyote
looking down:
No ledge is power,
potential energy,
so far to fall;
we who had
had no unmistakable miracles whatsoever…

He issued me an invitation,
that was no invention:
Invention, invitation, intention,
it all depends on where you look:
the air beneath his feet,
The man, pacing and praying
The words on the page—
Make of it what you will.

and I ask: Must willing make It so? or:
in the end—
despite my resistant, stubborn soul, which,
in spite of all good will,
will not will a God in Heaven—
might I also be caught up by the flow that defies my skeptic’s gravity?
And run to the God I cannot help but adore?
And bury my face, like a child’s, in the Godly, wounded side?

—Wendy Low

Wendy Low is the Director of Outreach and Youth Education at Writers & Books.

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