2016-04-07T11:39:52-07:00

If you go to any restaurant nowadays, you’ll likely see something that at one time would’ve been considered absurd: People whipping out their smartphones, taking pictures of their food, then forwarding said photograph to their friends, families, followers, catfishes, and Craigslist Killers all over creation through a variety of social media. “Suckling Duckling with Béarnaise Bilberries”? Gotta-get-an image of that on my Facebook wall. “Filleted Fintail in Papillote, served on the Hubcap of a Ford Fairlane”? Snapchat that sucker. (more…) Read more

2016-02-24T10:42:05-07:00

My six-year-old son caught me off guard. “I wish we had a backyard,” he said one afternoon. He had been playing more or less quietly with his Legos, and I was enjoying a book. “Oh, yeah?” I responded. “Why is that?” “Then we could just play outside and you wouldn’t have to watch us,” he said, and I knew he meant that he could play outside while my wife and I could stay inside doing the kinds of things we... Read more

2016-02-23T12:34:05-07:00

Another campaign season is upon us with a vengeance. Actually it’s campaign seasons—since the U.S. presidential campaign goes on for over two years. That’s summer, fall, winter, spring, summer, fall, winter, spring, summer ,and the final (gasp) fall. As for vengeance, this seems to increase with every four-year cycle. Could there possibly be more vengefulness articulated than we’ve been hearing these past months? Which brings me to Lent. For years, during every Lent that coincides with a presidential campaign, my... Read more

2016-02-23T11:47:50-07:00

When my husband and I were in the very early stages of our relationship, we both hid from each other that we used tobacco. He chewed. I smoked. But we’d been set up because both of our families were churchy. He thought I was a pious Catholic girl who might be turned off by his tobacco use. And I thought similarly of him. It wasn’t until our fifth date or so that we’d both had a couple glasses of wine... Read more

2016-02-23T11:13:02-07:00

At night, through the mottled glass of a door that leads out onto the roof of the building, a red light flashes on, then off, on, then off. It is like a scene from an early fifties’ noir movie. A seedy part of town. A motel. A neon sign flashing with an advertisement for “Girls, Girls, Girls” or “Booze, Booze, Booze.” In fact, the flashing red light isn’t from a sign. It is a streetlight. It is flashing red because... Read more

2016-02-22T12:32:16-07:00

“Benedic, anima mea,” I say each night to the mouse that lives behind my desk. I know what the phrase speaks of a soul, but “animal” often has more meaning to me than “soul.” Occasionally I quote Ada Limón’s poem “The Long Ride”: How good it is to love live things, even when what they’ve done is terrible. Her poem refers to a horse that killed its rider when spooked; my benediction forgives the droppings I find next to my... Read more

2016-02-22T11:47:45-07:00

Two Poets Laureate On Grief, Detachment, and Finding New Ways to Live, Part 2 By Sarah Arthur Continued from yesterday. Read Part 1 here.  Sarah Arthur: As Poet Laureate of Ohio, in what ways do you see the bardic role of the poet as “lamenter-in-chief” having changed over time? What role do you see a contemporary American poet laureate playing in a time of communal/national grief? Amit Majmudar: This is an interesting question because of the question it begs: Is a poet laureate, or a poet... Read more

2016-02-18T11:41:04-07:00

Two Poets Laureate On Grief, Detachment, and Finding New Ways to Live, Part 1 by Sarah Arthur In my role as the curator of three literary guides to prayer for Paraclete Press (At the Still Point, Light Upon Light, and the newly-released Between Midnight and Dawn), I have the coolest job. Not only do I get to read piles of poetry and fiction from across the centuries, but also I interact with dozens of living poets and novelists in various stages of... Read more

2016-02-17T10:40:45-07:00

This summer in Paris, on the morning before we flew home, I took my husband to Sainte-Chapelle, the medieval Gothic chapel on the Île de la Cité, right in the heart of Paris, a few streets over from the Notre Dame. A friend had brought me to Sainte-Chappelle years before. In the few free hours we had following a conference, it was the only thing I saw in the city on that trip. I climbed the stairs from the lower chapel... Read more

2016-02-17T09:46:39-07:00

Everyone knows what happened. Everyone lifts a steaming spoon of cinnamon oatmeal to their lips. Everyone crosses “t”s. Everyone knows there’s blood on the fence in Wyoming. Everyone hears God in Charleston. Everyone knows what happened. Everyone tries to beat the nightly news home, but everyone knows the news, licensed to drive, drives everyone mad. Not everyone is a refugee passing through Athens: Everyone knows who drank the poison in Athens and everyone knows who drank the water in Flint.... Read more

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