Psaltery & Lyre

No Door

A door not a door / (hope pared, halved) / wavers through mist / and lilies

BB Clarke

My father had watched the news and a fear grew inside of him, of brain-eating amoebae in lakes, so he never let me swim in them.


seek to find / in this universe / of white noise / / a winter crystal / of silence.

Two Poems

I’ve been baptized in the blood / of the lamb, and again, in the blood / of lambs. I keep both eyes open, / / pray while keeping track of my own.

Elephant March

When I pour out my grief over the leukemia / that has seized his body, she says think elephants.

As I Meditate

slick with moss and missteps, sways side / to side from the first plop, scarce light / at surface, cove darkened with desire / and suffering samsara.

Book Review: Mother’s Milk by Rachel Hunt Steenblik

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.

Resurrection Body

And when she gets it back: / will this be the body she wants? / The one smooth as mythology, before / it was flagged, pockmarked

Two Poems

I never said my body / was a cathedral.

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