DiaBLOGue

Pilgrimage

After ten hours of driving, out of the old station wagon.
My mother, roadworn, care poor, 
steps over the fallen gate. 

Toldot/Generations

now that I’m old 
and know it 
I begin to glimpse 
the endless line 

Basilica

Frank’s photos—
are like his fiction—
show clean, hard lines. 

Dust to Dust: A Mormon Folktale

The morning promised no bright sun. No blue sky. Only dust from the desert’s chalky red soil. “Lord in heaven,” Rosalinda said to herself. She stared out the window, worried about her garden. She couldn’t…

Nei Wei

Keith Larson spent the first year of his mission in the southern Taiwan port city of Kaoshiung. After a four-month stint in Tainan, central Taiwan, he was glad to be transferred south again to the…

Bathing a Child

            Elbow-deep in shallow water 
            with porcelain pressed against my breast 
I dragged the sudsy washcloth 
over your squirming body