DiaBLOGue

Salad for Two

I sense someone beside me 
and see Emily’s eyes on my hands 
and the knife in the sink. 
She asks, What are you slicing? 

The Good Shepherd

If I were the neighborhood bishop 
There’d be lots of things I couldn’t really help with
No rolling up sleeves to fix Brother Nielsen’s car
No driving some new tractor to plow snow 

The Peach

Blake’s angel, for all his winks and nods,
Wouldn’t have it, though it hangs for having:
Drop of down and blush quavering on the rim
Of ripeness, playing at a fall. 

Garden Tomb

The water was black around our knees. Bamboo surrounded and overlooked us. It was so quiet in the mist and the dark green stalks that the sound of our legs moving was an intrusion.  Water…

Carterville

I wanted to lift the glass-framed lid and hold the big German brown trout. He was smooth, beautiful, all shining gold—darker gold on top and lighter gold underneath. The gold had black, orange, and red…

Getting Out/Staying In: One Mormon/Gay Marriage: Staying In

I wrote “Getting Out” as a somewhat naive twenty-four-year-old. Now I return, in theory a wise and mature twenty-five-year-old. Inevitably, I’ll find whatever I write here equally naive a year from now. I don’t know…