When my daughter broke her foot, misshapen
scream at the bottom of the slide we built ourselves
in the joy of our children’s joy,
I wondered if God feels this too—
His cliffs and those that slip off them,
His oceans swiftly closing up lungs
like a thief in a jewelry box, emptied.
So many beautiful creatures devouring
beautiful creatures, even as some of our own
bodies devour the body, cells innocent
in their hunger. I held her hand while she fell
asleep, a mercy, and skilled hands set it straight.
I forget—did God make death? Or only
the knowledge of it—hanging on a tree, growing
brighter in the sun, so as to catch the eye.
Another Doubting Sonnet
Show Comments ()
The latest from america
The lie that Mary Magdalene was a prostitute persisted for centuries. A new play reclaims her story.
"Magdalene: I am the utterance of my name" is advocating for setting the record straight on one of Christianity’s most vital disciples.
This week on “Jesuitical,” Zac and Ashley struggle to resist the temptation to “type” each other as they learn about the Enneagram from Liz Orr, author of “The Unfiltered Enneagram: A Witty and Wise Guide to Self-Compassion.”
Keeping President Biden on the ballot is like telling voters: “Trust us. Don’t believe your eyes and ears.”
Many watching last night’s debate wondered if this was the end for Joe Biden. But I could not help but wonder if this was the end of presidential debates.