I want to know what kind of wood and how the hinges will convert the seat into a stall where a monk can stand for a while

for Oscar Christoph’s birthWax, little moon.Between toes and forehead,your fullness remembers itself.It’s still dark in your palms,darker still in your mouth,yet there beats and beatsa whole novelworld roundyour rolling ears,your found thumbs,your warm redfirmament—an outer-space s

The 2013 Foley poetry prize winning poem, by Chelsea Wagenaar

By the time of March Madness, entries were pouring in for the Foley poetry contest, with its $1,000 prize. We heard from Ljubljana, Slovenia; Alicante, Spain; Lagos, Nigeria; and Vatican City; plus Dijon, Edmonton, Queensland and Kerala State.Forty entries came to us from the seventh grade at Lakesi

Saying the prayer Christ taught us,we are mindful that in ritual timeHe is still saying, “Our Father Who Artin Heaven.” His words echothrough the Holy Spirit from mouthto mouth, so that when we say,“Our Father Who art in Heaven,”we are mindful that others tooare saying, &ldqu

“Repeat this prayer 10 times,send it to 15 friends.Within 3 days you will receive a blessingyou have been waiting for.”Who is this God, I wonder, who people thinkhas to be begged, cajoled,and manipulatedinto caring for his children?He is not my God.Still, it makes no sense, what we call