Dogma by Cynthia Reeser
“Dogma” by Cynthia Reeser Everywhere you look, churches. A proliferation of churches. It’s the Bible Belt and to be expected, but this, really. My son counting churches—it’s a game, wherever we drive. Churches in the country, churches in the city, churches in the suburbs. Churches across from other churches, dogmatic competition. Every other building a church. A church for every person, one for every other...
Where God Lives by Jeanne Bryner
“Where God Lives” by Jeanne Bryner It is hard to believe in God, even now. He was always somewhere else. Maybe fishing. Sometimes I get mad. Like when my sister was eight and I was six. Daddy went drinking, left us all alone to tend our baby brothers. We were potty-training the chubby one, Ben. I knelt to pull him off his potty seat and his weenie got caught in a crack of blue plastic. Blood spurted as if I’d...
Bring Me the God of Mrs. Garcia by Susan Kelly-DeWitt
“Bring Me the God of Mrs. Garcia” by Susan Kelly-DeWitt The thread was flame-colored, like vermilion flycatchers she once sketched in the countryside near Buenos Aires. Portugal snipped a length and smoothed it with her plump fingers. The sharp she would use, one of her mother’s good golds, weighed less than a hummingbird’s feather. She slipped the floss through the needle’s eye and thought of the rich man...
Incantation by Maureen Cummins
“Incantation” by Maureen Cummins INANNA. ENHEDUANNA. NISABA, colored as the stars. KALI, The Ferocious, The Vengeful, goddess of fury. MEDEA. ELECTRA. LADY MACBETH. IPHIGENIA, murdered by her father. SAPPHO. MURASAKI. DE PIZAN. Learn your alphabet. Practice your ABCs: Aphra Ben. Aphra Ben. Aphra Ben. _________________________________________________________ JOAN OF ARC, bound and burned. HÉLOÏSE, captured and...
Last Bus by Lynn Tudor Deming
“Last Bus” by Lynn Tudor Deming after Emily Dickinson He’s going to take you now. He’s going to slow down, And you guess it’s the last time You’ll ever have to wait, clutching Your jacket. Much closer than seemed Possible–suddenly its dark hulk looms up– Now it’s your bus, like so many you Fidgeted for in the thickening dusk. ____________________ Share your response...
Does the sea remember everything? I wonder.
Does she absorb everything? Does she keep it safe?
Virginia Woolf
. . .
The Q: Can you fathom the spectacle that would be created if we moved together, arms outstretched, close enough to touch?
The Q: What echoes through you that longs to take form—a poem, an image, a mark, a whisper of becoming?
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fathoms Feb 28, 2026 -
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