By Thomas Zimmerman

Greece: morning light bled rose, then bronze, then gold
on Mount Parnassos. I was thinking of
the grassy knolls an ocean west that hold
my parents’ graves, of all the dead I love.
Tragedian and archaeologist:
my Attic mode. I plumbed the dank and dark,
recorded music antic in the mist
of dream. I burned strange herbs at Delphi, spark
of perfumed prophecy. Olympia
reigned plain and fallen. Epidaurus, scoured
Mycenae powdered my ephemera
with dust of kings. Thoughts drifted, lotus-flowered,
from Alfa beer to Agamemnon’s mask,
from ghosts to questions they and I would ask.

By William Miller

In our living room,
there was a picture of Hell.

It hung above the couch,
where anyone could see it,
read its dark message.

On the right, a highway
was crowded with
people drinking from
bottles, falling down,
laughing.

Hell itself was many flames,
a dark city with
black towers …

My dad drank beer
in his favorite chair,
watched TV
and ignored us.

My mother sat with
an open bible on her lap,
“The Words of Jesus in Red.”

My grandmother lived
with us too.
Her husband shot
himself because
he had seen such
bad things in the war,
“stick people”
and “ovens.”
My grandmother drank
many drinks
on shaky legs,
said she’d kill
herself if she only
had a gun …

But there was another
way, beside the broad
way to Hell.

A tiny pilgrim
climbed a narrow,
mountain road.

It led to golden lights,
little angels circling …

My parents divorced;
my grandmother
married a man who drank
as much as she did …
And I see that picture still,
have walked both ways
but not the middle.

In Hell, there is a picture
of our living room.

By Stephanie Sharp

blood and water
oh God, no!
blood and water
not this!
the curse in my womb
preying in darkness
blood and water
the curse visible
weep for the child that is no more

no time to speak
when will you hear my voice?
I love you.
no time to touch
your body never clothed in skin
no toes to count
nothing to receive my kisses
nothing to fill my arms
only blood and water
the curse visible
Eve’s legacy in her daughter

blood and water
oh God, no!
blood and water
not this!
my curse on the cross
praying in darkness
blood and water
the curse damned
rejoice for the wounded who are remembered

eternity
time to speak
hear my voice
I love you.
time to touch
soft skin against mine
toes to count
feel my lips on your cheek
your weight in my arms
by Blood and Water
the curse damned
Eve’s redemption in her daughter

By Ruthie Voth

you said one time –
as iron sharpens iron,
so you’d like to be with me
well, maybe we’re not
but maybe we are
something similar

maybe…
as water smoothes rocks
I roll over you,
gently but constantly –
changing you slowly
and as rocks
change the course of water
you lead me
steadily
changing my direction
(even my chemical make-up)
as I change you

not harshly like
two iron rods, clanging,
but

comfortably

By Sarah Stoltzfus Allen

i bear a curse
every single day of my life
and love and
blink

it has woven itself into the fiber of
my speech and batting eyelashes
and the move of my hips and
how i cover up God given
breasts and
curves and reproductive organs

it rears its head in workplaces
and paychecks and
muscles

i have no
choice
but to deal with
Mother Eve’s
lapse of judgment
her mistake playing out in homes
and marriages
and churches and bars

and Father Adam’s first words
after the fall from grace
will tumble out of man’s mouth
over and over

“this woman!
If you hadn’t given me
this woman
i would not have let my lips close around
forbidden fruit!”

but God, in His infinite wisdom
placed a curse,
but did not
rename the species