by Rose Mary Boehm I know I have to do some shedding. Can’t go into a long, enfeebling winter with the weight of oceans, moors, beaches, dark woods, and stark horizons. I suppose I ought to shed my lightweight roots and put down the other kind, sturdy and reliable, holding a tree that tries to rise…
By Jeannette Kirchner Crushed rock across finger tips bricks to the hand scraping across them. Broken, cracked, faded, colorless stained glass of meaningless scripture. Shame overshadows as pieces of straw fall through the roof scared flocks scattered into the sky. Scurried away from their home built from God’s former home…