DiaBLOGue

City of Saints

When Dennis Cormier arrived on the fifteenth floor of the Church Office Building in downtown Salt Lake City, his first appointment was already waiting. The visitor was fleshy, jowls and hips, about Dennis’ age, and…

Opening Invisible Doors: Considering Heavenly Mother | Rachel Hunt Steenblik, Mother’s Milk: Poems in Search of Heavenly Mother

Mother’s Milk: Poems in Search of Heavenly Mother is a collection of poems written by Rachel Hunt Steenblik and illustrated by Ashley Mae Hoiland. Divided into four sections and armed with nearly thirty pages of notes, the work of this book appears to be two-fold: first, to enter into a discoveratory conversation about the nature of Heavenly Mother, and second, an outcropping of the research Steenblik conducted for the scholarly article “‘A Mother There’: A Survey of Historical Teachings about Mother in Heaven.”

Thin Volume, Thick Questions | Luisa Perkins, Prayers in Bath

The half-inch thickness of the thin paperback belies its contents. Some context on the limited edition, published by Mormon Artists Group, explains the dense publication: fifty hand-bound copies in Asahi silk, hand numbered, and signed with color reproductions of the four original art pieces created by Jacqui Larsen for the book.

Raking

I’m pretty sure I would consent 
to consignment in a hell comprised 
of raking leaves 
forever, 

Raw Hope and Kindness: The Burning Point | Tracy McKay, The Burning Point: A Memoir of Addiction, Destruction, Love, Parenting, Survival, and Hope

When reading a good book I’ll often hop online to supplement or enrich my sensory experience. This time I sought a detailed close-up for mala beads, a tactile sense of the silk handkerchief around a deck of tarot cards, an image of a gilded ketubah, and a sense of the gleaming stained glass medallion in the Nauvoo temple—but Tracy McKay’s memoir also gave me opportunities to look up some classic songs and spend some time enjoying them through a new auditory “lens.”

the fog

but then when I was crazy 
broken             exiled to the downtown dark 
hidden in a red brick fist of space 
between the sanctuary of First Presbyterian