slick with moss and missteps, sways side / to side from the first plop, scarce light / at surface, cove darkened with desire / and suffering samsara.
Steenblik’s poems give this reader the impression of someone who’s read and thought deeply about the role of the feminine divine, how Heavenly Mother can be sought and invited more fully into Mormon discourse in general and into the spirituality of individuals in particular.
And when she gets it back: / will this be the body she wants? / The one smooth as mythology, before / it was flagged, pockmarked
I never said my body / was a cathedral.
There are times when faith does not seem real. For me, it’s most of the time. But there are times when grace emerges like the sun chasing off the dark and cold.
How to re-yeast the daily / flatness of bread and wine?
lovely Lois / got mean, / / the kindness stuttered / right out of her, / a resentful tremolo
I know that Charlie, Millie's husband, has been dead for four years, but she isn't able to lacerate new events into the flesh of memory.
The airy headroom, where the egg flattens, / that's where you begin.