In this issue: Christ Was Murdered in Ukraine · The Taming of the Mississippi · Micarah Tewers Makes a Dress from a Couch · Putting Down the Dog & Soaking Seeds · Benjamin Franklin’s Phonetic Alphabet
In This Issue Notes: Why I Whistle · New Words: I Once Walked Around My House Upside-Down · In Other Words: Mary Oliver and the Opportunity Cost of Writing Poetry · News: Potting Up the Basil and Tomatoes · Postscript: Ditching School to Whistle Get “Notes in Glass Bottles” in your inbox every Sunday. NOTE Why I Whistle Maybe it’s an act of defiance, or maybe it’s just…
A poem based on actual events I once walked around the house upside-down,the ceiling fan sprouting like an alien flowerfrom a diamond-encrusted field of snow,coats craning on tippy-toe atop their hooks,slabs of books hanging from dark shelveslike bats thick in their caves, dreaming;and the frowny old man in the green painting seeming to smile now, standing…
In this issue
The Virtues of Remote Desert Islands in the Age of Noise + Into the Desert Once Again + The best Christian prayer books (for beginners) + Krista Tippett interviews Kate DiCamillo + Live with OSV: Imaginative Prayer + New Resources for Imaginative Prayer + The Real Notes in Glass Bottles
If I’d been an Israelite at the time of the Exodus, I’m sure I would have been one of the cranky gripers and complainers; I know this because I don’t look forward to the season of Lent. Not at all. I like my sugar, caffeine, meat, chocolate, etc., etc. I get especially whiny on those…
A poem. I have come here to harvest humusfrom the rotten bottom of the compostI left by the apple tree last fall.Raking away the shrouding coverof dry leaves reveals the dark heartof newborn earth.Leaning into the spade,I slice through the soiland lift it into the rusty wheelbarrow. The apple tree stands by,her wide boughs bespangledwith…
Like Huck Finn, these independent spirits have found a home (and a little adventure) on the Mississippi River. Soon as it was night, out we shoved; when we got her out to about the middle, we let her alone, and let her float wherever the current wanted her to. . .. Yonder was the banks…
God knows, we’ve fought enough these past few years — but for one night, we make a truce. A poem. As darkness settles over the land,we gather above the wide river —some thousands of us Americanscome for Fourth of July fireworks. Our long shadows linger in the lastlight, entangling us with one another,and perhaps with…
A poem. My grandfather didn’t like to talk about the war,but if you asked, he would share this story. On a cold April morning just outside Monte Casino,he walks into a field, dry stalks breaking under his feet.His living breath makes small curling clouds of fog,lit by the morning light for the space of a…
…as you will undoubtedly be told when you have The Conversation with friends and family Anyone who has ever joined the Winona Catholic Worker as a live-in volunteer has inevitably had The Conversation with his or her family and other relatives. With surprisingly few exceptions, the announcement that one is about to join the Catholic…
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