Tracy K. Smith

from time to time, i think of him watching mefrom over the top of his glasses, or eating candyfrom a jar. i remember thanking him each timethe session was done. but mostly what i seeis a human hand reaching down to lifta pebble from my tongue

from time to time, i think of him watching mefrom over the top of his glasses, or eating candyfrom a jar. i remember thanking him each timethe session was done. but mostly what i seeis a human hand reaching down to lifta pebble from my tongue

– Tracy K. Smith –

Life on Mars

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Joshua Harris

A Woman’s QuestionDo you know you have asked for the costliest thingEver made by the Hand above?A woman’s heart, and a woman’s life—And a woman’s wonderful love.Do you know you have asked for this priceless thingAs a child might ask for a toy?Demanding what others have died to win,With a reckless dash of boy.You have written my lesson of duty out,Manlike, you have questioned me.Now stand at the bars of my woman’s soulUntil I shall question thee.You require your mutton shall always be hot,Your socks and your shirt be whole;I require your heart be true as God’s starsAnd as pure as His heaven your soul.You require a cook for your mutton and beef,I require a far greater thing;A seamstress you’re wanting for socks and shirts—I look for a man and a king.A king for the beautiful realm called Home,And a man that his Maker, God,Shall look upon as He did on the firstAnd say: “It is very good.”I am fair and young, but the rose may fadeFrom this soft young cheek one day;Will you love me then ‘mid the falling leaves,As you did ‘mong the blossoms of May?Is your heart an ocean so strong and true,I may launch my all on its tide?A loving woman finds heaven or hellOn the day she is made a bride.I require all things that are grand and true,All things that a man should be;If you give this all, I would stake my lifeTo be all you demand of me.If you cannot be this, a laundress and cookYou can hire and little to pay;But a woman’s heart and a woman’s lifeAre not to be won that way.

Antonia Clark

AmendsRegret lingers, niggles. Yellow lilieson the table, gone brown in the vase.The garden we talk about, endlessly, but never begin, deterred by tough sod.On the edge of the walk, the wheelbarrowfull of stones waits like an undeliveredapology. Within, the floor needs scrubbingand only hands and knees will do the job.I know that forgiveness is a simple meal—a salad, a boiled potato, a glass of tea.Easy to prepare, to offer. That the silenceafterward will satisfy, perhaps even nourish.

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