The poem “Mourners” by Ted Kooser,1 about folks meeting at a funeral, ends with the following lines: They came this afternoon to say goodbye, but now they keep saying hello and hello, peering into each other’s faces, slow to let go of each other’s hands. In this poem,...
The kiss on the cheek planted swift, turns to thorny scratch, burns long and thin, drips red on black dirt. Fragile petals live a breath away, a thin vein from death. Roses keep distant, far from drawn swords ready to impale petal-skin. Repent and attempt to pluck...
It was another typical hot, sunny, Southern day. I felt the red clay beneath my feet heating up like hot coals. We were outdoors for recess, in a softball field, and no one else could hear the conversation, far out of earshot of the teacher on duty. My classmate...
Once upon a time, there was a woman whose name was Abigail. Abigail not only was beautiful, but also very wise. Abigail was the apple of her parents’ eyes. They delighted to watch her grow in grace and knowledge, and gain the favor of those who knew her. Naturally,...
![Ask Me What I [Don’t] Know](https://redbudwritersguild.com/wp-content/uploads/three-beauties-2722474_1920.jpg)
What do we see when we look at others’ faces? We notice the outward appearance, whether we wish to or not. Skin color, eye color, clothing, and so on, are apparent features that are obvious and difficult to pretend we do not see. What we cannot see or know from the...
