Her Love Foretells
By Sarah Graham She gazes, transfixed On Him. On Him, whose umbilical cord Still pulses with her blood. Whose lips pucker, rooting, Head bobs, searching. He, whose Word Made her.
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Poem: A Passing Grace
A passing greeting, you ran by Delivering a meal, though short on time I don’t recall your name, only your hair and eyes And after all this time, your heart
Mary’s Yes: A Meditation for the Fourth Sunday of Advent
Be it unto me as you have said: may my heartbeat be his oceaneven as my veins run wet with rain that he spoke into existence. Be it unto me
