Advent
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Advent

I fainted this morning. For a few seconds, the world stopped spinning,as planets hurricane-whippedthrough winter air. Heaviness. Darkness.Memory skipped a beat, time two beats,life suddenly shown up, a scratched audio CD.I opened my eyes, cheek on cement. Today was the coldest yet.Each boot thrust through icesplintered the memory of hills. At work, I utter this…

Fireflies
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Fireflies

Out in the countrythe stars speak to you.Sometimes their silver tongues singshimmering in vast choirsin cathedrals of night.Beneath their singing,two boys run over dark earth,racing, tumbling, laughing through the dusk,fast as a rabbit’s heart beating,its blood dancing, pulsing through veins… My twin brother ahead of me,breathing out brightnesswithin warm night windas we drift through soft…

‘And what if he tells you to make poems?’
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‘And what if he tells you to make poems?’

“Though I have never been to Mount Olive, New Jersey,I have spent years of my reading life on the Mount of Olives,trespassing, looking for a brown-skinned teacher…” writes Brad Davis in his book’s title poem, inspired by a news report of a trespassing teen in Mount Olive, New Jersey. The poem summarizes well the quest…

Walking with Siebenga and God
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Walking with Siebenga and God

When I was growing up in my tight-knit CRC triangle of home, church and Christian school, our communal economy was sustained by an unwritten code. You supported your own. You patronized CRC businesses and hired kids from your own congregation. If you had to pay a bit more for produce at Vandenbergs’ Market, well, so be it. It’s what you did. You invested in faith.