The Holy Ghost in Polyhymnia’s Closet
October 26, 2018Dear Holy (one?) I hope you are home for this.
Tell me the name of your name. For this
I am on my knees (though I am closed
still. Bruised.) But I have come for this.
DiaBLOGue
What Happened Sunday Morning
October 26, 2018When Danny DiLorenzo got up to speak I was thinking about how I could loosen my tie. My mother makes me wear one, and after an hour my body fights back. I stand in front…
The Holy Ghost in Melpomene’s Closet
October 26, 2018Before the black suits,
before the string of pearls
you will be in your bedroom slippers, steel woolling the pans.
Your coveralls, your boots, mucking out stalls.
Echo of Boy
October 26, 2018My son hunches into the storm in his oversized coat
to collect fast offerings, a two-hour route
because the other mother’s sons stay in when it’s cold.
He is mine.
His wrists
Bishop Johansen Rescues a Lost Soul: A Tale of Pleasant Grove
October 26, 2018-0- The grizzly, white-bearded weaver was as silent as the shadow of a ring-tailed civet cat—“reserved,” the folks in Pleasant Grove called the Russian. He did capable work making small throw rugs on a yew…
Nosebleed (A Mormon Pilgrimage)
October 26, 2018This is the most I’ve bled in a while,
blood blooms in the sink like a burnt offering.
It is hot today.
A forlorn train calls
through the open window.
Christus
October 26, 2018As a child first, the ramp was
forever. Walking, counting stars, planetgazing,
still walking; music playing, missionaries talking.
Your feet, eye-level, substantial and white, perfect
The Grammar of Quench
October 26, 2018The sentence of mortality ends with a period.
Dehydration rolled into one round sound: old.
If I slake my thirst, I prod my prostate to rebel.
If I desire to sin I send my soul reeling to the
Not the Truman Show
October 26, 2018Imagine a world with labels on the leaves,
fossilized scripture in compacted dust,
“God Made” on hooves—where everyone believes
not out of hope or faith, but because they must.
Solomon the Wise
October 26, 2018Mom remarried and moved out just after I turned six. To move is to
choose (which none of us wanted to do), as remarry is to wary, or to
worry. Like what I did the first night my brother and I stayed at Mom’s
new house. Dad was alone. All alone. Burn. Reburn. So Mom drove me