The God Who Weeps is a different kind of book. It’s devotional in spirit but academic in pedigree. It’s published by Deseret Book but under its Ensign Peak imprint. It’s an aggressively expansive book that,…
Jarring bang. Wheels leap up, rattling the heavy load of black piping destined for the oilrig. The truck rolls on. Oblivious to what it left behind. On the macadam, a coyote. From its sacrum back…
Barb’s dying, Carma thinks, and she steadies herself against the chest of drawers as Dan, kneeling beside his sister’s bed, strokes Barb’s face. Barb’s head seems to be rocking slightly on the pillow. Her eyes…
Dialogue 47.1 (Spring 2014): 104–123
An oral interview between an LDS Member and a Community of Christ member regarding the history of the Kirtland Temple. They explain that despite differences in religious beliefs, people can still form friendships and cooperate.
Only the north slopes grew pines
above the rocky hillside farm,
and we sought shelter there in our climbings.
It’s the Schubert piece that does it . . .
tonight you are moved into the dark to come
where white roots are suddenly remembered,
growing beautifully out of soil walls of a cellar
gone half a century . . . white roots
Where deep water widens and silks past
the river island, you move through tall grasses
downhill riverside, crouch through overhang
and find yourself beneath a great
low catalpa, broad leaves
How high fly the crows?
Thirty stories up I’ve seen them
Swimming in currents of air,
As confident as children in puddles.
The fever is on me now.
Since morning I can do nothing
but crack pistachios between
my thumbs and listen
to the woody tinkle of their shells
hitting the floor.
I mutter haiku at the cat
who bats them as they fall.
Sometimes you speak
and I hear
the words between us,